And All the Flowers Will Bloom
by TheBrightestNight
Summary: Alt. click-bait title: Episode 12 Canon is Dead and I Killed It Yuuri's anxiety gets the best of him. • Viktor wants to make it clear, he's not going to let Yuuri get away from him. Nor is he going back to the noose that had been choking him. He would have it both ways, because he was Viktor Nikiforov, he was used to winning. And this would be the most important win of his life.
1. One

**I literally just got into the YOI fandom like a week ago, but went down the meta rabbit hole at the speed of lightning, and this is what has come of it. Specifically, a lot of ideas for this fic developed from a meta by the wonderful caramelcheese on Tumblr. Since FF does like links and I don't want to clog up the notes more, here is the link to her first post, which has links to her next posts (there are five): .com****/post/155271559453/why-i-feel-that-yoi-betrayed-its-own-narrative**

**It having been three years, you've probably come across it, even read it, but since these ideas aren't entirely my own, I want to give proper credit.**

**This is a short story is basically a script doctor of episode 12. So if you were satisfied with episode 12, and don't want to read a script doctor, click away if this isn't your cup of tea.**

**Below is an angry rant, so you can just skip to the story if you don't want to read it lol:**

**I'm sure this has been done by everyone and their dog at this point, but I'm ready to** _Snap_, _**Crackle**_, and** Pop**

**Episode 12 was Bad (and the implications of where Viktor and Yuuri's relationship stands if they were to address it realistically in a season 2 is stressing me out way more than it should), so I'm telling canon to get the fuck outta here with that Bullshit.**

**I'm in the middle of a depressive episode and I don't want to read about realism because It SUCKS. I get enough real life in my real life. I want to read about Fluff and perfect endings, that's why**

**/rant**

**Anyway, I'm tired of being sad about it. Canon can burn under my righteous fury and rise from the ashes as this fanfic that will fix the ending.**

**so here it is**

* * *

These Words are Knives  
(that often leave scars)

Of all the things Viktor had expected Yuuri to say, "Let's end this." was not one of them. It wasn't even remotely close to any of the possibilities Viktor had gone through when Yuuri had asked to talk to him earlier that day.

Viktor wasn't sure if he was confused or hurt first, they both seemed to hit him at the same time. What did Yuuri mean—end their coach/skater relationship? Worse, end their _romantic_ relationship? And why was he telling him this now? What about…Viktor glanced down at the golden ring on his finger. What about what that meant? And it hurt to know that perhaps it had meant something different to Yuuri than it did to Viktor. It hurt more to know that Viktor had let himself believe it had meant the same to Yuuri that it did to him.

Of all the things Viktor had wanted to say to Yuuri after Yuuri had said that, "Huh?" wasn't exactly it. But that was all that his brain could conjure, despite the storm of emotions building up in his chest, all the words that were piling up in his brain. Maybe it was having a hard time translating them into English; the words were piling up too quickly for his translator to keep up with everything he wanted to say.

"You've done more than enough for me, Viktor," Yuuri began. "Thanks to you, I was able to give everything I had to my last season." Yuuri bowed. "Thank you for everything, Viktor." Yuuri's voice wavered. "Th-thank you for being my coach."

Viktor was still trying to figure everything out: his emotions, his thoughts that he couldn't fathom translating. So his body did the next best thing: tears pooled in his eyes and before he could really do anything to stop himself, Viktor began crying.

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath when he looked up to see Viktor's eyes filled with tears. "Viktor?" He flailed and started stuttering nonsense. In Yuuri's head, he was simultaneously cursing at himself in Japanese and trying to say something coherent to Viktor in English. Suffice to say, it didn't work and all that came out of Yuuri's mouth was half-formed words that sounded both like Japanese and English, like he was trying to start a word or sentence, realized it was in Japanese, switched in the middle of saying it to English, but thought he should say something else and stopped abruptly before beginning the cycle all over again.

Which only did to confuse Viktor more, for various reasons. One of them being at Yuuri's reaction. Had he _not_ expected Viktor to cry at what was basically a break-up line?

The tears didn't stop coming.

Yuuri leapt up from the bed when he figured out speaking wasn't going to work just yet, and ran to grab something from the bathroom. When he returned, he had a giant ball of tissues. Yuuri was still stuttering, his hand trembling as he offered the ball of tissues to Viktor, who would've laughed if he hadn't felt so…_everything_. At least he'd calmed down enough that he felt he had a better grasp on what to say. And his translator seemed to be working again. But the tears were still flowing, that was something he couldn't seem to get a hold of right now.

"I-I'm sorry," Yuuri stuttered, clearly at a loss at what to do. "I-I didn't think what I said would-would make you upset."

"Why wouldn't it?" Viktor snapped back, ignoring the tissues, looking up at Yuuri. "I didn't expect you to do something so selfish."

"You're the one who said it was only until the Grand Prix Final," Yuuri said looking confused, which only did to confuse Viktor _again_ and _even more_—confuse and hurt and anger. Hadn't Viktor already expressed his desires? Had Yuuri not listened? Had he forgotten? Maybe he hadn't picked up on them? Or had Viktor completely misread all the signals? Had the signals changed at some point and he just hadn't noticed? Viktor glanced down at the ring again, which was now starting to burn on his finger.

Could he still be tactful about this? Should he try?

Well, yes for now because he didn't know where they stood anymore. Everything Yuuri was telling him may have been in English, but Viktor almost felt like Yuuri was speaking Japanese.

Viktor tried to gather his thoughts and finally came up with, "I thought eventually you would decide you wanted my help more." That seemed…neutral enough while also getting across some of his desires.

"A-aren't you going to make a comeback?"

Viktor's chest tightened at those words and his mind blew up in a storm of Russian that his translator couldn't possibly keep up with, but one sentence made it through as Yuuri continued, "You don't have to worry about me—"

Viktor stood, grasping Yuuri's shoulders, and said, "How can you tell me to return to the ice while saying you're retiring?!" Yuuri's eyes widened in shock, like what Viktor had said only just occurred to him now. And maybe it had.

Now, Viktor had tried to respect Yuuri in this situation, as they were from different cultures. He'd learned a lot about the Japanese culture being with Yuuri in Hasetsu for almost a year now. But he'd be damned if he lost what he had worked so hard to cultivate: A life to look forward to, a life not for surviving, but for living; a love for the ice he had lost so long ago, a love that had only returned because of the love from and for the man before him.

Viktor thought maybe he could reign in his tears, but after that outburst, there was no way. They seemed to be flowing faster now, in fact. He was _angry_, dammit! And _hurt_. What else was he supposed to do?

Yuuri was at a loss for words. He still had the wad of tissues but they were being crushed in his fist now.

Viktor's hands tightened on Yuuri's shoulders. His tone was intense, almost desperate-sounding: "The only reason I love skating so much again is because of you, Yuuri."

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath as he remembered when Viktor had first shown up to Hasetsu, Yurio following closely after. He remembered the conversation he'd had about Viktor with Yurio when the boy had first arrived, which seemed like eons ago: _Surprising the audience has always been his top priority. For years, the skating world has worshipped him. But now, no matter what he does, no one's surprised anymore. He knows that, and it really eats at him. He doesn't feel inspired, and without inspiration, you're as good as dead._

Was…was Viktor really saying what Yuuri thought he was saying? There was no way. A dime-a-dozen skater from Japan? A skater who had come in last place at last year's GPF? A skater who then flubbed so hard, he didn't make it to the Four Continents, Worlds, and came in _fourth_ at Nationals? Had inspired Viktor Nikiforov?

Yuuri remembered how baffled he felt when Viktor had first shown up, and he felt just as baffled, if not more, now. It was one thing for that video of him performing Viktor's free skate to have inspired Viktor to fly to Japan to be Yuuri's coach, and it was a _completely_ different thing for Yuuri to have…somehow helped Viktor rekindle his love for skating altogether. (At least, in Yuuri's mind, it was.)

"But…but your fans—and the other competitors…the skating world—" Yuuri really wasn't sure what it was he was trying to say or get across. His brain was a jumbled mess now, trying to think through this information—which he was honestly having a difficult time completely believing—and then come up with a response _and then_ translate it into coherent English.

Viktor almost said, "Don't you get it?" in an exasperated way, but knew that it might not come across to Yuuri how he wanted it to, so he swallowed those words before they could make it out of his mouth. Taking a deep breath, letting go of Yuuri's shoulders and wiping away some of his tears (though new tears replaced them immediately), Viktor sat back, before taking Yuuri's free hand into his. (Yuuri's other hand was still gripping the ball of tissues.)

Viktor lifted Yuuri's hand and gently brushed his lips against Yuuri's knuckles before meeting Yuuri's eyes again.

"I only care about one person's opinion of me," Viktor said, then paused and lowered their hands. His heart beat painfully in his chest at the mere thought of his next words, but he forced them out anyway, hoping Yuuri wouldn't (would?) notice the pain, the empty hollowness that threatened to fill him up again just thinking about it: "If you really want me to return to the ice as your competitor—"

Before Viktor could finish, Yuuri tightened his grip on Viktor's hand. "I said that because I thought that's what you wanted. That you missed it. That you missed the other competitors, your fans. That's what everyone else was saying. That's what everyone else wants."

Viktor's jerk reaction was to pull his hand away when he felt a spark of anger in his chest, but he tramped down on that impulse, and tried to control his tone, though it still had a biting edge to it: "So you thought that they spoke for me?" He knew that it wasn't entirely Yuuri's fault that he would assume that. But Viktor was angry Yuuri had assumed what he wanted without even asking Viktor himself. How could he not be angry at that? He was human, after all.

"No!" Yuuri's grip on Viktor's hand tightened further. "That's not what I'm trying to say—" Yuuri shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order and then translate them. "Today, the way you watched the other competitors—I know you miss it, miss them. A-and don't put up an act, you can tell me the truth. I asked you to be who you are then, and I'm asking you to do that now."

In truth, Viktor was still trying to figure out who exactly that was. He'd gotten so used to the other Viktors people wanted him to be for so many years, it was second nature to fall into any one of them at any given moment—whatever the situation demanded, he had a Viktor for that. (Well, usually. After Yuuri came into his life, he'd found none of the Viktors he had cultivated suited what Yuuri needed from him.) There had been glimpses of who Viktor was when he'd danced with Yuuri at last year's GPF banquet, and of course throughout all his time spent with Yuuri in Hasetsu, and even through the GPF qualifiers. But it wasn't like a year away from being who other people wanted and needed him to be would magically reverse the conditioning he'd given himself over at least 10 years. With more time, of course, and Yuuri, he was sure he could figure out who exactly Viktor was. But for now…

He could tell Yuuri the truth as he knew it.

Something else occurred to Viktor in that moment as well: Yuuri's anxiety. It seemed to have grown so large and so loud that Yuuri could no longer hear what his heart was telling him was true.

"I told you before," Viktor began, "that I wished you'd never retire and I meant it." Yuuri opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Viktor continued, "And I know you know it, too. Just like you knew I didn't mean it when I told you I would resign as your coach at the Cup of China."

Could he tell Yuuri why he couldn't—_didn't_—want to go back to the ice as a competitor? How he felt his skating career had a stranglehold on him?

Perhaps not tonight. It still felt too raw, too fresh. He could still feel the bruises from the pressure and the stinging from where the chain links pinched his skin. But in time, he would. For now, he would tell Yuuri what he knew in his own heart, and what he knew Yuuri's heart was saying, but what his anxiety was drowning out.

"I do miss it, Yuuri," Viktor continued. "But you're the one who gave me the ability to miss it in the first place. Truthfully, I enjoyed watching the other competitors as a coach, while still experiencing some of that same excitement I got as a fellow competitor. Just because I miss it, doesn't mean I want to return to it. Being your coach, being on the ice with you that way—_being_ with you—is more than enough for me."

Yuuri didn't know what to say to that, how to respond. He could feel his anxiety continue to gnaw away in his brain, doubting and second-guessing: _The skating world will hate you! Keeping Viktor to yourself is a grave sin._ Viktor's fans cheering his name right before Yuuri's short program.

At the same time…the logical part of his brain knew it was hard to take Viktor's words any other way. Okay, so he missed skating. That was to be expected, he'd dedicated his life to it. But he…didn't want to return to it? Is that really what Viktor was saying?

There was something else to it. Yuuri could tell there was something Viktor wasn't telling him: love skating _again_, as if he'd lost his love for it; gave him the _ability_ to miss it, as if he didn't before. But Yuuri had a feeling that Viktor didn't want to talk about that yet, so he would keep those questions tucked away for later. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand.

Like the fact that he had let his anxiety get the best of him. Or the fact that he assumed what Viktor wanted without asking him. Or the fact that he'd made Viktor _cry_.

Yuuri felt his heart plummet as it fully hit him and the tears welled up in his eyes before he could stop them. He knew that sometimes he acted impulsively, just to get that feeling of dread to _go away_, but he'd never had to face such immediate consequences like making the man he loved _cry_.

"Yuuri!" Viktor exclaimed, having been waiting patiently, knowing the look Yuuri got when he was thinking hard about something. Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hand, but Yuuri pulled away, not breaking eye contact with Viktor as his tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri whispered. "I'm so sorry." His throat closed then, preventing him from saying more. Just as well, because he could feel sobs building up in his chest. Before Viktor could do anything, let alone say anything, Yuuri pulled in even more, bowing his head and torso, and bringing his hands—even the one that still held all those tissues—to his face as tears poured from his eyes.

Viktor began to reach forward, to comfort him, but his hand froze half-way there, remembering the conversation they'd had on the beach in Hasetsu. Would Yuuri think Viktor pitied him or thought he was weak if Viktor tried to comfort him now? Especially with his anxiety clearly acting up?

Maybe he could try something else. Quickly, Viktor stood and went to grab more tissues from the bathroom, enough to rival Yuuri's. He sat down in front of Yuuri, leaning forward and holding out his wad of tissues.

"Yuuri," Viktor said quietly, slowly inching the tissues he held into Yuuri's field of view, his other hand gently resting on one of Yuuri's knees.

Sniffling, Yuuri wiped his tears away long enough to see Viktor's wad of tissues. A hysterical laugh bubbled up to the surface, followed by a hiccup. Yuuri's face turned red then, and he lifted his hand to cover his mouth, finally dropping his wad of tissues.

Gently, Viktor tilted Yuuri's chin up so he could meet Yuuri's eyes, and gave him a soft smile before gentle wiping the tears on Yuuri's cheeks away with the tissues he'd grabbed. Once he finished with that, Viktor set the tissues aside before slowly pulling Yuuri into a hug, giving Yuuri enough time to decide if he wanted that hug or not. Though, Viktor _was_ relieved when Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor.

Yuuri felt so stupid for ever assuming Viktor's wants without actually asking him. But it wasn't like he could control his anxious thoughts, as much as he tried. Then again, he knew he could've handled that _way_ better and the guilt was already building in his gut at all that had transpired between them.

But he was afraid if he tried to say anything else, anything _more_, his anxiety fueling him, it would come out all wrong again and he didn't feel like having another fight. He wasn't entirely sure this…argument—no, _conversation_—was even over yet. It wasn't like Viktor _didn't_ know Yuuri had anxiety, of course he did by now, but Viktor was still learning how to help Yuuri when his anxiety became too much. And, yes, some part of him was afraid if Viktor saw the absolute worst of Yuuri's anxiety, he would decide it wasn't worth the trouble. (Which _was_ different than his worry over if Viktor would stay with him if he returned to skating and Yuuri retired, in Yuuri's mind.)

The Cup of China had been bad, certainly one of his lower points, but it that had been a physical manifestation of his anxiety. Yuuri hadn't had the chance to share what his mind was like when anxiety took over, his racing thoughts, how he jumped to conclusions (like Viktor wanting to make a comeback), how he jumped to the worst case scenario, assumed the worst of everything and everyone, how he'd do _anything_ to feel in control, to stop the feeling of dread, of impending doom looming over him.

Viktor had gotten a glimpse of that tonight, but Yuuri had a feeling Viktor didn't quite understand where, "Let's end this" had come from.

Yes, Viktor's words quieted his anxiety (for now), and yes, Yuuri would express to Viktor how out of control his anxious thoughts got sometimes. But tonight wasn't the night to do that. Besides all that, he still had his free skate to think about, which had to be more than perfect if he was going to recover from his lackluster short program and win that gold medal. Not entirely for Viktor, no, but because _he wanted it_, for himself, too.

Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hands, bringing Yuuri back to the suite. Blinking, he realized Viktor had sat back and taken Yuuri's hands into his. Both their eyes had dried up, but their cheeks were stained with tears.

"Come on, we should get some sleep," Viktor said, squeezing Yuuri's hands again. Yuuri squeezed back, liking the comforting warmth and weight that came with it.

"Yeah, okay." Yuuri's voice was hoarse.

They stood at the same time, keeping on of their hands entwined and went to clean their faces up in the bathroom before changing into more comfortable clothes. It was quiet between them, but as they prepared for bed, they were almost always touching—brushing against each other, linking their pinkies briefly. As they exited the bathroom, Viktor began to head to his side of the room* and Yuuri the other.

*Calling them sides was a bit of a stretch because the room was pretty small, but the beds were pushed so close together, they were basically forced to go to opposite sides of the room to get into bed. While they could've crawled from the end of the bed, it wasn't wholly convenient (or graceful) to pull the sheets back and crawl under that way.

Just before Viktor could really move away from Yuuri, however, Yuuri's hand shot out and gripped Viktor's. Viktor froze and turned to look over at Yuuri, who was gazing down at his bed, but Viktor could see the faint blush in Yuuri's cheeks.

"Yuuri?" Viktor's voice was quiet. For a moment, Yuuri didn't say anything, and for a moment, Viktor was afraid there was something else wrong. Yuuri quickly allayed his fear, however, when he jerked Viktor's arm toward him, his other hand coming up and cupping Viktor's neck, before Yuuri's lips met Viktor's.

Viktor was too shocked at first to respond, but when it finally registered, he melted into the kiss, turning so he could wrap one of his arms around Yuuri's waist, his other hand going to Yuuri's hair.

It was a short kiss, but Viktor still felt breathless when they pulled away. He wondered if Yuuri felt the same.

Yuuri looked up at Viktor through his long, dark lashes, making Viktor's breath catch and his heart do a quad flip in his chest.

"Goodnight, Viktor," Yuuri murmured.

Viktor blinked, slightly stuttering on his words, "G-goodnight, Yuuri."

Yuuri pulled away, giving Viktor's hand one more squeeze before taking off his glasses and crawling into bed. Viktor's legs felt a little weak, but he managed to crawl into his own bed and turn out the lights just as Yuuri did.

Despite the long day and exhausting evening, Viktor couldn't sleep. His mind was buzzing, and he wondered if that was how Yuuri felt before a big competition, why he had such trouble sleeping. Viktor just couldn't get his thoughts to shut up.

There was still a lot for them to talk about. Like if Yuuri was really going to retire after the GPF, and if he _really_ wanted Viktor to return to skating competitively (though, he was sure it was everyone else's opinions on the matter that were affecting Yuuri's own opinion and feeding into his anxiety). Not to mention what their future would look like if Yuuri _did_ retire, which made being his coach kind of null.

Viktor rolled over on his other side, facing the sleeping figure of Yuuri, who was fast asleep, which made Viktor kind of jealous, though Viktor couldn't really blame him. Viktor's own eyes felt heavy, but when he closed his eyes, his thoughts flew past them, giving him motion sickness, which wasn't helping with the whole trying to get to sleep thing.

Yuuri was facing Viktor, one of his hands slightly outstretched, and it took all of Viktor's self-control not to reach out and entwine his fingers with Yuuri's. He wouldn't want to wake Yuuri up. He only wished _he_ could fall asleep so easily right now.

Such a small space between the beds, but it felt like a chasm.

Viktor didn't want Yuuri to retire, if he was being entirely honest with himself. He wasn't sure how truthful he could be about it with Yuuri, though. Sure, he'd told Yuuri he wished Yuuri would never retire—twice now!—but it was such an exaggeration, Yuuri didn't seem to understand what exactly Viktor meant when he said it. Telling Yuuri plainly, "I wish you wouldn't retire for a few more years" seemed more difficult to Viktor somehow. With anyone else, it would've been easy. Russians were typically very straightforward, but…Yuuri wasn't just _anyone else_. He was _so much more_, he was Katsuki Yuuri, the man who had given Viktor life, love, and inspiration, the man who had stolen Viktor's heart and breathed life back into it.

And, of course, it was still Yuuri's decision to make. The last thing Viktor wanted was for his opinion to pressure Yuuri into doing something he didn't want to do. (Though, deep down, Viktor was sure Yuuri didn't want to retire yet.) At the same time, wouldn't Yuuri want to know what Viktor wanted? Just because he wanted Yuuri to keep skating didn't mean Yuuri had to listen to him. He hadn't exactly listened to Viktor in the past, anyway. Not when he told Yuuri to cut his three quads down to one during Nationals and not when he told Yuuri not to attempt jumps during his warm-up at the Cup of China.

Viktor sighed and rolled back over to his other side, pulling the pillow from underneath his head and pressing his face into it, trying not to scream out of frustration. It was too confusing—his thoughts and emotions were a jumbled mess. He felt like they'd cleared some things up tonight, while simultaneously clearing nothing up. He still felt like there were unanswered questions—too many for his liking—floating around in his mind, and he hated that feeling of not knowing.

Yuuri had kissed him before they'd gone to bed. Did that mean things were okay between them? Or was it some kind of goodbye kiss?

Viktor pressed his face into his pillow more, biting his tongue on a groan at that last thought. He didn't want to think like that, didn't want to think about _any_ of that now.

…he just wanted _sleep_.

* * *

**Ah, sorry for the angsty ending. Wasn't exactly planning on it, just how it happened. Fear not! As the tags say, there will be a happy ending. Gotta get through the angst first.**

…**so, how'd I do? This is my first time ever writing for YOI, so I hope the characters seemed…in-character. It's still new to me, so I'm still exploring their characters and finding new things about them the more I rewatch the series (and read more metas).**

**On languages real quick, I realize that I put some emphasis on it at the beginning, and I guess to just cover my bases, I wanted to say the reason I did is because when stressed or tired, your brain takes more short-cuts than usual to save energy. Needless to say, the conversation they're having is quite stressful, so while under normal circumstances they might be more fluent in English/English might come easier to them, their mother tongues are the easiest to default to since, you know, it's their mother tongues. (Of course, this is going off the assumption that they didn't grow up learning English as they learned their native languages, and to that I say let me have my fun lol)**

**The more I read this for typos and to edit some things, the more my anxiety acts up, so, like Yuuri, I'm just going to go for it before I start thinking about it too much and decide not to post at all.**

**Title of the work is from "Come Home With Me" from _Hadestown_ because I love the musical and thought it would fit for this. Title of the chapter is from "This is Gospel" (by Panic! at the Disco) because listening to this song actually sparked the initial ideas for this fic, and I thought it fit really well for this first chapter.**

**Finally, I'd like to once again thank caramelcheese.**

**I hope you enjoyed! Comments are much appreciated ^_^**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight **


	2. Two

**Here's where the angst concludes and we get into fluff :D**

* * *

What Comes of Snow When it Melts?  
(spring comes)

When Viktor woke up the next morning, Yuuri was gone. The pain in his chest was swift and sharp like a knife. He was unsure why that bothered him so much. Maybe it was because Yuuri was usually the one to sleep in during travel because of the jetlag, unless his anxiety was making him antsy. (Of course, he _could_ get up early when he really wanted or needed to—he was serious about his training, just like Viktor was.) Maybe it was because Viktor was still turning over what had happened last night, _and_ the fact that he hadn't fallen asleep until early morning. Or maybe it was because that thought last night, that Yuuri's kiss had been _goodbye_, had wiggled its way into Viktor's mind and was taking root. (That one hurt. _A lot._)

Letting out a small, pained sigh, Viktor slowly sat up, brushing his hair back with his hands and thinking about everything that'd happened last night. About everything they still needed to talk about. His stomach knotted with dread, which wasn't exactly what he _wanted _to be feeling, but it was important and essential they finished their conversation. Perhaps…it wasn't necessarily the conversation he was dreading, but the outcome. Couples—was that what they were, after last night?—had little spats. Hell, they'd had one the night before the short programs, and they'd gotten through it just fine. At least, in Viktor's mind, they'd had.

Well…last night wasn't just some little spat over something insignificant like a bag of nuts.

Viktor glanced down at his right hand, at the ring on his finger. His heart twisted painfully at the thought of giving it back. It represented a lot of things to him, and all of those things made him happy. So basically, it represented his happiness, and if had to give that back—give his happiness _away_…

The door to their room opened and Yuuri stepped through, carrying two brown paper bags and a cup carrier with two paper takeaway cups.

Viktor's head snapped up and Yuuri froze as he came in.

"Oh, I was hoping to get back before you woke up," Yuuri said, sidling the rest of the way in and closing the door behind him before quickly going over to the small table against the wall across from their beds and setting down the items in his hands.

Viktor remained quiet, the stabbing pain in his chest subsiding and slowly disappearing as Yuuri explained, "I got us breakfast." He began taking off his coat and unwinding his scarf from his neck. "I found a Russian restaurant. I thought…thought you might like that, being away from home so often. It's, uh…" Yuuri trailed off trying to remember the name. It didn't take him long: "Syrniki. Did I say that right?" Viktor nodded silently, feeling a little stunned. "And then I have some tea, too. With gooseberry jam." Yuuri couldn't understand putting jam of all things into tea, but that was something Viktor had introduced him to when they'd first had tea in Hasetsu. (Also, his tea didn't have jam, even if he'd tried it and didn't hate it.)

"Did they speak English?" Viktor finally asked and then mentally kicked himself for not saying "thank you" first.

Yuuri let out a chuckle as he pulled the cups from the carrier. "No—"

"I could've come with you," Viktor said, throwing the sheets off him, as if getting out of bed would make up for something that'd already happened.

Yuuri quickly waved him down. "I dragged Yurio along, so it's okay. I…I wanted to surprise you." Yuuri swallowed as a blush stained his cheeks, but he quickly turned away to grab the takeaway cups.

Viktor laughed at the thought of that—Yuuri getting the seemingly always angry fifteen-year-old, Yuuri's _competition_, up at an ungodly hour to get breakfast for Viktor. "Wow, I'm surprised he went with you." He got out of bed and quickly threw on a quarter-sleeve shirt and pulled on some pants.

"Me too, honestly." Yuuri chuckled again. "I owe him a favor, but that's nothing." Yuuri shrugged and passed Viktor his cup as Viktor sat down at the end of his bed.

"Thank you, Yuuri," Viktor said, taking the cup and taking a test sip. Ah, _perfect_.

"Of course," Yuuri replied as he began taking out napkins and plastic forks (just in case they needed them). Then something occurred to Viktor.

"What about you?" Viktor asked, lowering his cup of tea.

Yuuri glanced at Viktor over his shoulder. "What about me?"

"You're away from home, too. There must be some Japanese restaurants in the area."

"There are," Yuuri said as he came over to sit on the end of his bed with their food. Viktor shifted, so he was more fully facing Yuuri.

Yuuri had flattened out one of the paper bags and set the napkins down on it, which held the syrniki, little cottage cheese dumplings. His other hand held his tea, which he set at his feet.

Yuuri looked up at Viktor and continued, "But…" He broke off and blushed again, his soft brown eyes flitting away. Viktor hated that, if only because he could've looked into those brown eyes for eternity. Yuuri's voice was quiet and got quieter as he spoke, "I thought you might enjoy a little taste of home…m-more than me, right now."

Viktor had thrown himself into a foreign land without much preparation, so he'd had to learn things quickly if he'd wanted to, more or less, fit in and not do anything too ignorant while he was there. (Of course, he'd had practice adjusting or adapting, having traveled all over the world for skating competitions and such, but visiting and living there were two completely separate things.) One of the things he'd learned about Japanese culture was their indirect way of speaking. Where Russians were usually always direct with what they thought and felt, Japanese people had a more subtle way of communicating what they meant. And there was nothing wrong with that, of course, it just took some time to get used to for Viktor. Sometimes it still went over his head, but he was beginning to pick up on their form of communicating their thoughts and feelings.

And if Viktor was right about what Yuuri was saying to him, both in his indirect speech and actions, Yuuri was trying to apologize for last night.

Oh, and that just…made Viktor's heart melt. For a moment, he forgot about his fears surrounding the rest of their conversation that still needed to happen. The pain of Yuuri's words last night, while still there and still hurting, was soothed just a little.

No wonder Yuuri had gone to all the trouble—getting Yurio up and owing him a favor, going to a restaurant where he didn't speak the language, getting only Russian food.

Viktor took Yuuri's hand and squeezed it tightly. Yuuri finally looked back at Viktor, still blushing.

"_Thank you_, Yuuri," Viktor told him, smiling widely. Yuuri relaxed and a small smile made its way onto his face.

Yuuri squeezed Viktor's hand back. "Of course."

Things were quiet and maybe a little tense between them for the remainder of the day. Viktor was trying to decide if he should suggest they have the rest of their conversation today or after the GPF. On one hand, he didn't want to stress Yuuri out _more_ if they fought and then he had to perform his free skate the next day.

Despite how they were both feeling, they both decided it would be a good idea to go to the rink and for Yuuri to get in a little practice, maybe work off some of Yuuri's nerves. If his anxiety wasn't too bad, Viktor knew how therapeutic it could be for Yuuri, so this might be good for him. Of course, it would be a little different than a skating session in a small local rink like the one in Hasetsu, what with the other competitors, cameras, and fans…but it was better than nothing. Right?

On the other hand, Viktor knew that Yuuri had a tendency to flub his jumps when he had something on his mind.

It wasn't like he fell _every_ time, sometimes he'd step out of his landing, two-foot it, or not get enough rotations, sometimes his quads become triples, his triples doubles. But as his practice wore on, his falls did start to increase. Despite this, Yuuri would simply pick himself back up and continue skating. It usually bothered him a lot but right now it was like he'd fallen into some kind of trance—like he was aware there were others watching him, but it didn't quite register in Yuuri's mind. (Though, perhaps it did affect him in that his falls did increase.)

Viktor wasn't sure whether he should break that concentration or not. He didn't want Yuuri to keep flubbing his jumps in front of his other competitors or the cameras or the fans, but he was afraid if he broke Yuuri from his trance and he became aware that it wasn't just him and Viktor, Yuuri might fall into a full-blown panic attack. That was the last thing Viktor wanted to happen a day before Yuuri's free skate.

It wasn't until Viktor, who'd been keeping careful watch over not just Yuuri but everyone else there, noticed how the other competitors glanced at Yuuri whenever he messed up a jump—with eyes that were a little too sharp, lips that curled in a way that was almost predatory. On some level, all of them were…friends of some sort—at the least, friendly colleagues…for the most part—and there was the unspoken rules of good sportsmanship, but they were also currently in the middle of the coliseum, all fighting for a spot on the podium and especially that gold medal. Any sign of weakness and it was over—blood in the water, wasn't that the saying?

Yuuri was just getting up from falling from another jump when Viktor called, "Yuuri." He kept his voice neutral and coach-like, knowing that this was a precarious balancing act now. Both for the cameras and the other competitors who were still skating, but who Viktor knew were keeping an ear on this upcoming conversation between coach and skater.

To Viktor's relief, Yuuri skated over to him. His eyes looked a little far away as Viktor handed him his water bottle. Viktor tried to compose his thoughts as Yuuri drank: If he suggested Yuuri take a break, would Yuuri become upset? If he suggested they go to lunch, as a subtle way to get Yuuri to take a break, would Yuuri see right through it and become upset anyway?

Yuuri set his water bottle down on the boards before resting his hands on the boards as well. His eyes were still far away, head slightly bowed. He didn't move to go back to practice yet, though.

Viktor did a sweep of the rink again, taking note of who was watching—a glance out of the corners of his eyes at cameras—and who was listening. Carefully, he set his hands down on the boards, next to Yuuri's but not touching them. Viktor didn't want it to seem like his decisions were being based off their personal relationship, especially right now, when it was clear Yuuri was having a rough time, because of the kind of scrutiny that came with it. They were already under scrutiny because of the fact that they had a coach-skater relationship and a personal relationship, Viktor didn't need to add to that. At the same time, Viktor wanted Yuuri to know that he was there for him, both as a coach and as his partner.

Being in the limelight for so long, the status Viktor had gained so quickly and at such a young age, afforded him experience with all kinds of scrutiny from the media (which was part of the reason he had to cultivate a Viktor for any given situation), so he could handle it. But Yuuri wasn't used to that kind of attention, and Viktor wanted to shield him from it as much as possible. Yuuri was under enough stress as it was, there was no need to add anything additional.

After going through dozens of different things Viktor could say to get Yuuri to take a break without it seeming like Viktor was doing it just because Yuuri was having a rough time, he'd finally settled on, "Do you want to talk about it?" He said it in a low, neutral tone. Even though he was kind of dreading it. Of course he wanted to clear the air and make both their intentions crystal clear but, again, there were so many other factors to consider if they were going to have such a heavy conversation in the middle of the Grand Prix Finals.

Best case: Yuuri could clear his mind while they also figured out what their future was going to look like.

Worst case: They got into a fight, which most certainly would affect Yuuri's free skate tomorrow.

Yuuri finally looked up at Viktor with tired eyes and nodded. "Yes."

Viktor stifled his relieved sigh but couldn't help how some of the tension in his shoulders dissipated. At the same time, his stomach knotted with apprehension. It was weird to feel such opposing things at the same time, and so strongly.

"Why don't we grab some lunch and then go back to the hotel," Viktor suggested and then tacked on, "You can practice more a little later." If he was even up for it afterward.

Yuuri nodded silently again before exiting the rink. Viktor was there to help him balance as he put on his skate guards, smiling pleasantly at the cameras that were trained on them currently.

They exited the building quietly and Viktor almost wished they could have the conversation before lunch, just so it wouldn't be such a silent, tense, awkward affair. However, it was probably best for both of them to talk on a full stomach.

They went to a Japanese restaurant for lunch because Viktor thought it might put Yuuri's mind at ease a little, getting a little taste of home himself. Yuuri, of course, tried to insist they go to another Russian place or the same restaurant they'd visited their first night in Barcelona, but Viktor insisted and Yuuri finally agreed. Viktor wanted to return the favor from this morning, and that seemed to be the only reason Yuuri finally acquiesced.

Just as Viktor suspected, their lunch was a little bit quiet, and a little bit tense. They did manage small conversation. It was pleasant for the most part, but all Viktor could really think about was their upcoming conversation, as much as he tried to focus on the moment. (The food was delicious, and reminded Viktor so much of Hasetsu his heart started to ache a little.)

Afterward, they headed back to the hotel. The closer they got, the more it felt like Viktor's heart was doing a particularly demanding free skate in his chest. He glanced over at Yuuri as they rode the elevator up, wondering if Yuuri was feeling about the same (spoiler alert: he was) but couldn't really tell. Yuuri's eyes looked more tired than usual and far away again. That made Viktor's heart do a quad loop and worse, flub the landing.

The elevator dinged, making Viktor start. He hadn't felt this anxious about anything in so long, it startled him. Good or bad, Yuuri had an amazing way of making Viktor feel _so strongly_ and _so deeply_ with everything.

For a long time, Viktor had felt that he had been trapped in a perpetual Russian winter—cold, frozen, unfeeling. It was almost necessary after a point: breaking himself down and rebuilding, reinventing, reassembling himself so he could keep surprising the audience was difficult and had become painful. The ice helped because it kept his heart cold, so cold it numbed the pain. After a while, the ice kept his heart from bleeding at all.

Then Yuuri had danced into his life and the snow, the ice, had melted, bringing forth dazzling colors of life, the warmth of spring (of love). He felt again, color returned to his world, he bled. But with Yuuri there, it wasn't as painful as he'd been expecting, wasn't as painful as he'd feared. And once that pain had subsided—was soothed by baths at the onsen and a mother's love infused into katsudon—with Yuuri, he was able to rebuild himself once more. For the last time.

With Yuuri, he didn't have to cut himself up and figure out how to put the jagged pieces back together in a completely new way—he could just _be_.

Yuuri had brought Viktor's world back to life. No matter the outcome of this conversation, Viktor would be forever grateful to Yuuri for that.

When they got to their room and began to take off their coats and scarves, Viktor began thinking about how to bring up what he wanted to discuss, where to start. Part of him wanted to wait until Yuuri brought up what he might want to talk about, but another part of him wanted more control over the conversation than that. Control was probably the wrong word in this situation. He just wanted Yuuri to be honest and upfront with him.

Yes, Yuuri had been more upfront with Viktor last night about his intentions and thoughts, but it had also been emotionally charged for both of them, and for different reasons. Viktor wanted to know what Yuuri was thinking on more neutral ground, when they could think and communicate more clearly without the height of emotion muddying the waters.

"Yuuri," Viktor finally said, sitting down on the end of his bed. Yuuri was turned away from Viktor, fiddling with his scarf, which he'd set on the small table he'd set their food on earlier that morning. Yuuri's hands froze and he straightened up. Viktor waited until Yuuri turned to look at him over his shoulder, scarf still in hand. "We can talk about anything you want, but I want you to be honest and open with me. Okay?"

Yuuri turned back to his scarf, rubbing his thumbs over the fabric for a moment. Then he dropped his scarf and faced Viktor again. "Okay, I can do that. You promise to do the same?"

"Of course," Viktor replied immediately.

Yuuri paused again before going over to his bed and sitting at the end. Viktor shifted so he could face Yuuri better, but Yuuri kept his eyes downcast. He was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, nervously pinching the fabric of his pantleg. Viktor held his breath, waiting as patiently as he could. He'd decided he would let Yuuri bring up what was most bothering him, and if he felt there was more they should discuss, he'd bring it up himself.

"What you said last night," Yuuri finally began. Finally, he looked up at Viktor. "You really don't want to return to competitive skating?"

At this point, Viktor should have been used to Yuuri's surprises, but he wasn't. He thought maybe Yuuri would build up to such a big question, but this was Yuuri. When did he ever act like Viktor expected him to?

Blinking, Viktor looked down and tried to think of how he could respond. Not that he needed to think about the truth, but he still wasn't quite ready to reveal how depressed he'd become before he'd met Yuuri at last year's GPF banquet. And despite what could happen at the end of their conversation, Viktor's hand slowly reached out, toward Yuuri, seeking comfort in him. Yuuri met him half-way, hesitant at first, letting their fingers brush before threading his fingers with Viktor's. The light from the windows flashed on Viktor's ring.

Viktor looked up at Yuuri, taking a steadying breath. "No, I don't. I still love it, of course I do." Viktor paused. "…but for a while, I…lost sight of that love." Viktor squeezed Yuuri's hand. "And you're the one who helped me find that love again. With your love, Yuuri."

Yuuri's lips parted, his cheeks flushing pink. There it was again: where Yuuri had looked up to Viktor his whole life, had found his love for skating again through Viktor's skating after that disastrous GPF last year, Viktor was telling him that _Yuuri_ had helped _Viktor_ find his love for skating again. Because a lot had happened yesterday (and because of his anxiety), last night had felt a bit like a fever dream to Yuuri. It was hard for Yuuri to rationalize what Viktor had said to him with his anxiety still knowing away. And on some level, he would always question what Viktor was telling him…but in that moment, with Viktor holding his hand and looking into his eyes with such an earnest expression…well, Yuuri's anxiety could eat its heart out.

"I'm _happy_ where I am now, with you, Yuuri," Viktor continued. "When I say I wish you'd never retire, I mean it almost quite literally. If there were no physical limits for athletes, I would gladly spend the rest of my life being your coach because I love being your coach. I love _being _with _you_."

Yuuri's face turned red and he gave Viktor a small, shy smile; similar words that Yuuri could recall Viktor had said last night, now reinforced today. But then Yuuri looked down again, his expression clouded, and he tensed, which Viktor could feel through their entwined hands. The color faded from Yuuri's face and Viktor held his breath again.

"Truthfully," Yuuri began, pausing before squeezing Viktor's hand tightly with fervor. Yuuri's eyes snapped back up to meet Viktor's and they blazed like the sparklers they'd taken out at the beach in Hasetsu one evening. "I want you to be my coach forever, Viktor. I've loved skating with you. Love _being_ with _you_, too!" The fire dimmed in Yuuri's eyes and his shoulders slumped, eyes lowering again. "But…w-wouldn't being my coach…kill you as a competitive skater?" Yuuri asked, glancing back up at Viktor through is long, dark lashes. (Was he doing it on purpose? Trying to throw Viktor off his game?)

Viktor reached up with his other hand to tilt Yuuri's chin up before caressing Yuuri's cheek.

"It would," Viktor answered honestly, brushing his thumb underneath Yuuri's eye. "But I wouldn't mind." Yuuri's eyes blazed once more and he opened his mouth but Viktor pulled his hand away from Yuuri's face and made a gentle stop motion with it. "Okay, okay, I would mind." He lowered his hand. "_But_, more in a way of grieving something that is already gone. Skating was my whole life, and for a while, it brought me immense joy." Viktor paused and looked down. "But I lost that joy along the way. And with it…life"—Viktor almost said "my life" but that was dancing dangerously close to something he just wasn't ready to reveal to Yuuri, _yet_—"and love." Viktor closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing. Even revealing this much was painful for him. But Yuuri's steady hand in his helped.

"…Viktor?" Yuuri asked, voice quiet, gentle.

Viktor let out a shaky breath before opening his eyes again and looking up at Yuuri, giving him an unsteady smile. "Giving up that part of my life will be difficult, but I think that…perhaps it's time I let it go. Being with you will make it easier." Viktor paused again. "I've been happier than I have been in _years_, Yuuri. After having met you, I love skating again. I _found_ that joy again. As I said last night, I've enjoyed being on the ice with you as your coach and choreographer. You've given me life and love." Viktor paused before sighing, his expression becoming less serious and more…long-suffering (but in a humorous way, if that made any sense whatsoever). "And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger in competitive athlete years"—Viktor's free hand subconsciously moved to press his fingertips to the crown of his head, where he was sure his hairline was starting to recede—"so my official retirement was fast-approaching anyway." He loathed to admit it, but it didn't quite have the sting it did in the past when he'd thought about his age with Yuuri there.

Yuuri's voice was hesitant and quiet, but kept a similar tone to Viktor's as he said, "If it makes you feel any better, your hair's still very thick and shiny."

Viktor simply sighed again, his shoulders sagging, pressing his fingertips harder into his hairline. But Yuuri's words reminded him of the first time Yuuri had touched the crown of his head and Viktor couldn't help but smile privately. Being reminded of his age had stung, but Yuuri's _reaction_ to Viktor's overdramatic response was what made it a fond memory.

Yuuri took Viktor's hand—bringing Viktor out of that moment and back to the current one—that was still at the crown of his head and brought it to his lips, kissing Viktor's palm before giving Viktor a gentle smile and saying, "Thank you, Viktor."

Viktor felt heat spread across his cheeks and his heart did a quad-triple combination in his chest. It took him a moment to return Yuuri's smile with his own and stutter out, "S-sure." not entirely sure what Yuuri was thanking him for. At least he seemed satisfied after Viktor's explanation.

But there was one last thing Viktor wanted to know, in no uncertain terms.

Taking a deep breath, he took both of Yuuri's hands into his and squeezed them gently.

"Does this mean…" Viktor began. "Does this mean you won't retire after the Grand Prix Finals? Officially?"

Yuuri blinked like he hadn't been expecting that question. He paused. Thought. Took a deep breath. Thought some more.

Viktor thought Yuuri was an open book, but right now—perhaps his heart was pounding too loud in his ears—he couldn't tell what Yuuri was thinking.

Then, gripping Viktor's hands, Yuuri's eyes lighting up again, he declared: "I want to keep skating! With you as my coach, Viktor!"

Viktor's heart soared at those words and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Yuuri inclined his head to the side, a grin spreading across his face that communicated: _cocky_. Viktor's heart shot into his throat in the _Oh, I didn't think I could love this man any more than I already do, yet I do_ kind of way as Yuuri said, "Besides, I think I could break a few records and win enough gold medals to rival you before I retire, don't you think?"

Viktor's heart burst and, no longer able to hold it in, tackled Yuuri with a hug that knocked them over onto Yuuri's bed. Yuuri laughed and Viktor pulled back, propping himself up with his hands on either side of Yuuri's head so they could see each other, a huge smile on Viktor's face.

"As your coach, I would expect nothing less," Viktor said.

And besides that…

Viktor shifted his weight to one of his elbows, pressing closer to Yuuri, loving the way his soft brown eyes widened and his cheeks flushed pink. …though, this also made Viktor's heart pound so fast, he was afraid Yuuri might be able to hear it.

"I'll always want you, you know," Viktor said. His blue eyes were intense as they stared into Yuuri's. "Skater or not. Gold medal or not." Viktor swallowed hard and then, "I…I love you, Yuuri."

Yuuri sucked in a small breath making Viktor's heart stop completely. (Yuuri had a tendency to do that to him, it seemed.)

Some part of Yuuri, the anxiety part, still couldn't quite wrap his head around it all. Still doubted, still wondered, still second-guessed. But there was a warmth in his chest now that settled some of his anxiety, and quieted his buzzing thoughts. Of course, that doubt would most likely never completely go away, it would always be there in some small way because that was just how his anxiety worked, but…

Yuuri reached up slowly, caressing Viktor's face, and then gave him a dazzling smile, restarting Viktor's heart at an alarming rate. (And in that moment, Viktor knew: Yuuri would be the death of him.)

"I'll always want you, too, Viktor," Yuuri said. "Skater or not. Coach or not." He took in a small breath. "I love you, too, Viktor."

For a moment, Viktor felt like he was floating, then Yuuri's other arm came up and wrapped around the back of Viktor's neck, pulling him down toward Yuuri so their lips could meet.

Viktor let out a startled laugh against Yuuri's lips before returning the kiss in kind.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Yuuri and Viktor returned to the rink so Yuuri could get in a little more practice. With his mind clearer now, his jumps were considerably better and he seemed much more focused, less tired, and less out of it. Now he just had to manage his usual anxiety that came with such a big competition. And after spending so much time with him, after the trials of the qualifiers, and the trials that came with a romantic relationship, Viktor felt more capable of helping him through it.

* * *

Viktor had trouble sleeping that night, for an entirely different reason than the night before. He couldn't believe it: he was actually _anxious_! It wasn't anxiety that Yuuri wouldn't do well—Yuuri was objectively wickedly talented—no, it was anxiety over how Yuuri would feel if he _didn't_ win gold. Viktor was sure Yuuri could make the podium, at the least—absolutely positive Yuuri could win gold. But some small niggling _thing_ at the back of his mind whispered about what might happen if Yuuri didn't win. (Was _this_ how Yuuri felt _all the time_?)

After having gotten a better glimpse into what Yuuri's anxiety was like, the way his thoughts worked when clouded by anxiety, Viktor had a better understanding of the kind of struggle Yuuri must've faced every time he went out onto the ice. Not only that, but if by some cosmic mistake—because that would be what it was, a _mistake_—Yuuri didn't win gold, Viktor was sure he would be able to help Yuuri through it.

But Viktor's heart twisted at the mere thought of Yuuri's devastated expression.

Yuuri shifted and murmured something in Japanese, bringing Viktor out of his spiraling thoughts, Viktor's eyes focusing in on him. (It really wasn't like him, to worry like this, but he had found something, some_one_, he wanted to protect now. It had changed him.)

Now, Viktor's Japanese wasn't _the best_, but having lived in Hasetsu for eight months, and it being the theme of Yuuri's programs, he knew what the word "love" sounded like in Japanese. He was sure that Yuuri had said something about love.

Like last night, one of Yuuri's hands was outstretched, toward Viktor. The urge to reach out and take his hand hit Viktor like an anvil this time.

_Oh_, but at least Viktor knew that whatever happened tomorrow, they would be together. (Viktor inched his hand toward Yuuri's, his fingertips coming to a stop a hair's breadth away from Yuuri's fingertips.) And Viktor could continue to live life with the man he loved.

Viktor felt blood rush to his face at the thought of spending the rest of his life with Yuuri. Biting his tongue on what could only be classified as a squeal, pulling his outstretched hand back, Viktor brought one of his pillows out from under his head so he could press his face into it. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, he thought it might just burst from his ribcage. He felt like a kid again, when he'd first found out how much he loved skating, how much skating made him happy, giddy even—_joyful_. Who knew the man before him could make a 27-year-old, consecutive five-time World Champion gold medalist feel like a child again?

Then again…

Viktor pulled the pillow from his face just enough so he could see Yuuri. That was the whole reason he'd fallen for Yuuri in the first place, wasn't it?

* * *

**Fair warning, bit of a long end notes.**

**Quick note: there are a few Russian restaurants in Barcelona, but they only serve lunch onward, so we'll just suspend our disbelief and pretend at least one of them also serves breakfast.**

**So if you couldn't tell, I'm not exactly any sort of expert or even really what I'd classify as a fan of competitive figure skating. I've always loved watching the skating portions of the Olympics if it was on and I had access to cable, but that's about the extent of it. So,,, there may be some details that I got wrong (in fact, I'm almost certain I got them wrong, but I included them anyway because I thought it added to the drama; let's suspend our disbelief for a little longer). I tried looking up how the GPF was structured, but my searches didn't give me the information I wanted. And I'm still working through my social anxiety to be able to talk to other people online, so that wasn't exactly a resource for me (though, I did ask one person, but they haven't responded yet and I really wanted to get this chapter up).**

**Feel free to attack me on anon about any one of those things. Or off anon, if you'd like.**

**Anyway, for everyone else, feel free to correct me. I'd love to know the intricacies (or behind-the-scenes, if you will) of competitive figure skating that don't come up with general Google searches. However, do note, if it wasn't already obvious, if you're rude about it, I'll just ignore you.**

**Oh, and thanks to those commenters on my last chapter for telling the anon off!**

**Title and summary are from **_**Fruits Basket**_**. I love Hatori and have always loved his story (in a tragic way), and this line, that spring comes after the snow melts is **_**so beautiful**_**. And I think it fits with Viktor's narrative really well, too, which is why this chapter is named as such. Additionally, the metaphor about Viktor's heart no longer bleeding because it's so cold comes from the fairytale of the Snow Queen. I can't remember the exact details, but she kidnaps a young man and keeps him occupied with a puzzle made from ice shards, but his body has turned so cold, the cuts from the shards don't hurt or even bleed. I really liked that visual, so I used it here.**

**Finally, the next chapter will mostly be about script doctoring the rest of the GPF—some specific scenes, scores (though, since I don't know anything about this sport, I haven't actually calculated scores, I've just switched some numbers around; I will read a points breakdown of both Yuri's and Yuuri's programs, however), and who wins what medals, with some fun extra ****stuff**** (fluff) after the award ceremony. Hope you'll stay tuned!**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed! Comments are much appreciated! ^_^**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


	3. Three

**Quick little note: I know there's a morning practice before the FS (and I found a schedule of the GPF from like last year, so I assume it's like early af in the YOI-verse, too; especially in winter when the sun doesn't come up until like 8), but for the Fluff™ and the narrative, I'm going to fudge the timeline regarding that a little bit. In addition, I don't actually know the types of point penalties one gets for certain mess-ups, so I'll be fudging those details as well. (If it doesn't add up, I'd love to know what I can do to change it to make it more accurate!)**

**Strap in! This is the longest chapter by far, but I wanted to keep it all in without splitting it up. Also, if you thought there was a some fun fluff in the last chapter, just you wait. Here we go! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ**

* * *

I Like Shiny Things  
(but I'd marry you with paper rings)

Yuuri woke before Viktor again that next morning. It was an uncommon occurrence and Yuuri wondered if something had kept Viktor up both last night and the night before last as he watched Viktor breathe. Well, the night before last he probably _had_ had something keeping him up. But Yuuri wondered what could've kept him up last night.

Viktor's right hand was outstretched toward Yuuri, palm up. Without really thinking, Yuuri slowly reached forward and gently linked his right ring finger with Viktor's, careful not to wake Viktor. Yuuri shifted his hand slightly, watching as the early morning light coming through the window glinted off his ring.

Yuuri started when he felt a small tug on his ring finger and focused his eyes—as best he could without his glasses—back on Viktor, who he could see was awake.

"Oh, sorry," Yuuri began. "Did I wake you?"

Viktor smiled, pulling at Yuuri's ring finger with a little more force before taking Yuuri's hand into his. "No, you didn't. And even if you had, it would have been fine."

Yuuri's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You've just seemed more tired than usual."

Viktor was glad, in that moment, that Yuuri didn't have his glasses on because the edge of his lips twitched as he tried to keep his smile up. And it wasn't that he was _trying_ to keep anything from Yuuri, it was more like he wasn't _ready_ to talk about what had been on his mind lately. Yes, the night before last had been mostly centered around their argument. And last night had been mostly centered around Viktor's own anxiety about Yuuri's free skate. But when those thoughts had run their course, his brain had picked something else to think about, apparently not caring how exhausted Viktor felt in those early hours of the morning: how he'd felt about his competitive skating career for years now.

_Logically_, Viktor knew that Yuuri would be wholly and completely understanding.

But _emotionally_? He was all over the place. And it didn't have anything to do with Yuuri; it had _everything_ to do with Viktor and his—what was the word Yuuri had used?—hang-ups. It seemed the roles had been reversed, with Viktor now afraid to let Yuuri see Viktor's own hang-ups.

Viktor shifted on his bed so he could be closer to Yuuri, keeping his right hand in Yuuri's, and reached forward with his free hand to gently caress Yuuri's cheek, running his thumb underneath Yuuri's eye.

"It's nothing you need to worry about right now," Viktor told him. "I promise."

Yuuri worried his lower lip for a moment, looking away, thinking. Then his brown eyes met Viktor's blue ones again. "Are you anxious?"

Viktor's thumb stilled, not expecting that question. He took a moment to reply, thinking about how he should answer. He didn't want to make Yuuri any more anxious than he probably already was with what he said—not _right before_ his free skate today.

Finally, Viktor said, "Yes, but not in the way that you're thinking. I have every confidence in you that your free skate will be amazing, Yuuri. Do you believe me?"

Yuuri was quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving Viktor's. Then Yuuri reached up and put his hand over Viktor's hand that was still caressing his face. Yuuri smiled and nodded. "I do."

Viktor's heart shot into his throat and he felt a blush stain his cheeks. Viktor wasn't sure he believed in psychics or fortune telling, but on all his gold medals, he swore he saw a vision of his future—_his and Yuuri's _future. Specifically, their future _wedding_.

Sunlight bathed Yuuri, acting like a natural spotlight. Whenever his slicked-back hair caught the light, it turned auburn, nearly red, like rubies had been woven into his hair. Viktor wasn't sure if Yuuri would or wanted to wear more traditional Japanese wedding attire, but in this vision (since he didn't know a whole lot on that aspect of their culture) Yuuri was in an off-white suit that fit _perfectly_. His tie and handkerchief were a dazzling sapphire blue, which matched the blue peony in his lapel. Yuuri was smiling up at him with beautiful brown eyes that were sparkling with joy and excitement.

The vision was broken when the Yuuri in the present spoke again, completely oblivious to what was going on in Viktor's mind. For the best, perhaps. Viktor would've been too embarrassed to admit it to Yuuri right then—dreaming about their future wedding. They hadn't even talked in plain words about it. Viktor was _sure_ that they had exchanged engagement rings, all joking aside. But as was evident the night before last, Yuuri did and said things with intentions that weren't always clear to Viktor. And Viktor wanted to be 100% sure that Yuuri was on the same page as him regarding their engagement and, hopefully, marriage before he went off like that on Yuuri. Especially since he had his free skate to worry about today. That should be Yuuri's main, and really only, focus.

"What are you anxious about, then?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor tried to pull his mind from that vision, but it was damn near imprinted on his irises. Thankfully, though, focusing on the Yuuri in front of him helped. Somewhat. (It was all too easy to imagine the present Yuuri as the future Yuuri at their wedding. He would be doomed when Yuuri slicked back his hair for the competition later.)

"I know how much you want the gold medal, Yuuri." Viktor shifted closer, his gaze intense. His grip tightened on Yuuri's right hand. "And I want that for you, too." Viktor paused. "Does…does that make sense?"

Yuuri smiled and nodded before closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to Viktor's before he could overthink anything too much.

* * *

A little bit before the scheduled practice, they went for a walk along the pier—listening to the sound of the waves crash against the sand and the gulls' cries—hand-in-hand…which were both stuffed into Viktor's jacket pocket to keep warm. They both had gloves, of course, but where was the fun in that?

It was quiet, but unlike the day before, it was a comfortable silence. They had said what they wanted to yesterday; now it was time to take a moment so Yuuri could clear his mind and focus on his free skate.

* * *

"_This is Stéphane Lambiel, reporting from Barcelona. Now, over to Morooka._"

"_Thank you; Morooka here. Supporters were worried after watching Japan's Yuuri Katsuki practice yesterday, as it didn't seem to be going very well. However, after a short break, he came back and seemed to have a clearer head. His practice this morning went well, too, much to his supporters' relief._"

Yuuri and Viktor were headed to the rink when they were stopped by Stéphane: "Salut, _Viktor! Yuuri!_"

They faced the camera and Viktor put an arm around Yuuri's shoulders, waving with his free hand.

"S_alut_, Stéphane, it's been a while," Viktor replied as Yuuri smiled and nodded politely, if not a little awkwardly, since he didn't speak French but knew he'd heard his name. Viktor continued: "Good to see you again. We're confident that Yuuri's performance today will close the gap between him and the gold medal, and hope that Yuuri's supporters will cheer him on."

"_I'm sure they will. Thanks for speaking with us. _Bonne chance_. After finishing fifth in the short programs, and Viktor's comment, I'm very interested to see Yuuri Katsuki's performance tonight._"

* * *

The closer Yuuri's free skate came, the louder Viktor's heart seemed to pound. (They were currently waiting behind the stands, a few meters away from the curtain that would lead them rink-side.) He thought it'd been bad before Yuuri's short program, but today was worse. He could barely hear the cheers of the crowd over the sound of the blood roaring in his ears. Of course, having competed for so long, he'd felt this countless times before, but this time he felt more helpless. Usually, this feeling helped him skate like Viktor Nikiforov, consecutive five-time World Champion gold medalist, five-time Grand Prix Final gold medalist, Olympian, Russia's Darling—but he wasn't the one skating this time. And there was only so much he could do as a coach for Yuuri.

The rest was up to Yuuri.

And, again, it wasn't that Viktor wasn't confident in Yuuri's abilities, it was more about how helpless he felt having to stand by and watch.

Even when they stepped out from behind the stands, lifting the curtain that muted much of the noise, all Viktor could hear and feel was the pounding of his own heart in his chest. On autopilot, he took Yuuri's jacket, then set his water bottle and the Makka tissue box on the boards as Yuuri stepped onto the ice. It wasn't until they were waiting for Yuuri's name to be called did Viktor finally find his voice again.

"Yuuri," Viktor said to get Yuuri's attention.

Yuuri had his hands on the boards, head bowed. Viktor was leaning on the boards, held up by his elbows, arms loosely crossed. Yuuri inclined his head upward, but didn't fully lift it, to indicate he was listening. "What I said back at the hotel yesterday was true—I'll always want you—but I think you know how much fun it would be for me to kiss your gold medal." Yuuri looked up then, and Viktor gave him a reassuring smile, moving his right hand to Yuuri's right hand before giving it a gentle squeeze. "And besides that," Viktor continued, leaning closer and pressing his forehead to Yuuri's. "I know how much winning the gold medal would mean to you, how much you want it." Viktor pulled away, keeping Yuuri's gaze. "How much longer are you going to stay in warm-up mode?"

Yuuri squeezed Viktor's hand, a slow smile spreading across Yuuri's face before he pulled Viktor into a tight hug. Viktor returned it in kind, feeling anxiety curl in the pit of his stomach even though he wasn't the one competing—_because_ he wasn't the one competing. Joking aside, Viktor wanted Yuuri to win the gold medal for Yuuri's sake more than anything else.

Yuuri's name had been called, so Viktor knew he had to let him go. But it was Yuuri who pulled away first, just slightly so he could quickly press his lips to Viktor's in a chaste kiss, before pulling his arms away. They grasped each other's right hands, rings gleaming, before Yuuri completely pulled away to get into position.

* * *

The crowd went silent as Yuuri's music began to play—that or Viktor was the only one who could no longer hear the crowd and only the music (which was very possible). Yuuri, as usual, did amazing with his step sequences and interpretation. Even after having seen it as many time as he had, Viktor could _feel_ the emotion Yuuri expressed through his skating, just as strong, potent, and _beautiful_ as the first day they'd finalized his program.

It was the jumps that Viktor was most worried about—his heart jumping every time Yuuri did. He held his breath, only letting it out when Yuuri landed.

Viktor's heart did a strange little thing when Yuuri changed his triple toe to a triple flip. It sparked something familiar in the back of his mind but at the moment, Viktor was so caught up in Yuuri's performance it didn't quite rise from his subconscious. Viktor's heart did the same funny little thing when Yuuri then changed his triple flip into a quad toe. Consciously, he thought maybe Yuuri had done it for the extra points. In the back of his mind, more lights were flickering with familiarity, knowing.

When it all finally clicked, Yuuri had just gone into his last jump, the quad flip. Viktor sucked in a sharp breath as those lights blazed to life just as Yuuri was at the peak of his jump. Of course! The jump composition—it had the same level of difficulty as Viktor's own programs! Then Yuuri landed his jump cleanly and absolutely _perfect_, and Viktor couldn't help the tears that flooded his eyes—at what just occurred to him, and Yuuri's amazing quad flip.

That was it! A perfect performance!

The cheers of the crowd as Yuuri finished the last of his program were so loud, Viktor's beating heart couldn't possibly block it out (oh, but it certainly tried as Viktor watched Yuuri lift his hand and settle into his end pose). Then, before Viktor could give his body conscious command to, he was running to greet Yuuri. When he got to the entrance to the ice, Yuuri was still standing in the middle of the rink, probably taking it all in, feeling that release of pressure and anxiety, as well as coming down from his adrenaline rush.

"_Yuuri!_" Viktor called over the still-roaring crowd. It took all he could not to just run out onto the ice.

Yuuri turned, tears pooled in his eyes. When he spotted Viktor, he smiled and began to skate over to Viktor…at an alarming speed. It was so fast, Viktor could barely comprehend what was happening before Yuuri was on him, throwing his arms around Viktor, knocking them both to the ground while Yuuri pressed his lips to Viktor's.

_Oh._

Yuuri lifted himself up with his free hand so he could look at Viktor (his other arm cradling the back of Viktor's head), and smiled softly.

"Surprised?" Yuuri asked. Whether about the kiss or his program, Viktor wasn't sure, but Viktor _was_ sure his heart had just burst in his chest as he looked up at Yuuri. In fact, Viktor was so overwhelmed by the warmth that was filling him up so completely in that moment, he couldn't even think, let alone _speak_, in English to answer Yuuri. So he did the next best thing, he laughed before pulling Yuuri in for another (quick) kiss.

Carefully, they helped each other up before Viktor handed Yuuri his skate guards and they made their way to the kiss and cry.

* * *

As Yuuri and Viktor waited for the scores, Yuuri seemed more tense than usual. Especially after such a spectacular skate. Obviously, there were nerves that came with seeing how well one did, but Yuuri's nerves seemed centered around something else. Viktor was sure that even Yuuri could tell he had skated amazingly.

Before Viktor could ask, Yuuri turned toward him, taking Viktor's hands into his.

"Viktor," Yuuri began. "I want to apologize for what happened the night before last…what I said, how I said it—"

"Yuuri," Viktor tried, since Viktor thought Yuuri had already apologized with breakfast yesterday morning. Besides, they'd already talked most of it out. Viktor was content—well, more than content, but he didn't think there was a word in either English or Russian (or French) that could fully encompass how he felt right now—with where they were right now.

But Yuuri squeezed Viktor's hands to stop him and said, "No, let me say this: I wasn't thinking clearly and everything came out all wrong." Yuuri's grip tightened on Viktor's hands more. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. And I'm sorry that I did. I promise to try and be more open with you when my thoughts get too anxious."

_Oh, dammit_.

"V-Viktor!" Yuuri stammered as tears pooled in Viktor's eyes for the second time that day. "Are-are you okay?"

To answer, Viktor threw his arms around Yuuri, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "I'm better than okay. Thank you for saying that. Thank you for everything. _Arigatou_, Yuuri."

Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor, Yuuri's heart doing a quad flip in his chest at hearing Viktor speak Japanese.

"I should be thanking you." Yuuri managed. "You've given me so much these past few months. More than I could have ever wished for. _Spasibo_, Viktor." Viktor buried his face in Yuuri's shoulder as a fresh wave of tears pooled in his eyes.

They pulled away just in time to hear Yuuri's free skate score and overall score.

"Yuuri!" Viktor exclaimed, tackling him in a side-hug, so the cameras could still see the star of the show, but being careful not to completely bowl him over.

Yuuri, meanwhile, blinked, forcing air in and out of his lungs, trying to decide if this was a dream or not. Was this really happening? A score of over 300? _One of Viktor's records broken?_ That couldn't be true. But there it was, posted in plain numbers: Yuuri's free skate was 223.81, making his overall score 321.64. His eyes weren't deceiving him. They couldn't be. Going by Viktor's reaction, they weren't.

Viktor leaned in close, murmuring into Yuuri's ear, "Congratulations, Yuuri." He paused for a second, then, "At this rate, you'll have five Grand Prix gold medals in no time."

Yuuri pulled away so he could look at Viktor and give him a soft smile. Heart racing at such a look (wow, Yuuri really had turned him into a teenager again), Viktor returned Yuuri's smile with his own, squeezing Yuuri's shoulder gently. Then Viktor was smiling at the camera and waving for the fans, something he was used to doing (it was basically habit after so many years) when scoring so well—and breaking a record, no less!

But Yuuri, while appreciative of his fans and supporters (of course!), couldn't have cared less in that moment, eyes still on Viktor. Viktor, who had jumped into Yuuri's life head-first with what seemed like reckless abandon. Viktor, who had helped Yuuri find and build his confidence. Viktor, who had _stayed_ despite all of Yuuri's anxieties and hang-ups he had been so afraid to let Viktor see. Viktor, who he loved.

Without really thinking, Yuuri reached up and grabbed Viktor's tie, pulling him down as Yuuri inclined his head so their lips could meet. Cameras be damned.

To the rest of the world, it was a victory kiss of sorts.

To Viktor and Yuuri, it was so much more.

They kept it short and PG before they both turned to the camera for one last smile and wave before the feed switched to show Chris taking the ice. Viktor and Yuuri stayed at the kiss and cry for some of the photographers who wanted get a few more shots in. At one point, Viktor asked one of them to get a picture of them with his own phone. Then it was time for interviews and the final, agonizing wait to see who would make the podium, who wouldn't, and who would win gold.

* * *

Yuuri and Viktor took a seat in the same area they'd sat during the short programs to watch the remaining skaters. They'd been at the kiss and cry for half of Chris's performance, unfortunately, and then Yuuri had had interviews. So they were able to catch about half of Otabek's free skate. Then Yurio was up.

Both Yuuri and Viktor stood, going up to the edge of the stands.

"_Davai_, Yurio!" Yuuri called.

Viktor raised an arm and waved his hand. "_Davai, Davai_!" he shouted.

Yurio, of course, ignored both of them, only responding to Otabek's "_Davai!_" with a thumbs up.

Yuuri and Viktor sat back down, Yuuri trying not to feel too nervous. This was going to be the longest four minutes of Yuuri's life.

* * *

Yurio, as usual, performed amazingly, _beautifully_. His first three jumps were absolutely flawless, with arms raised, giving him more points. It wasn't until his fourth jump, when he well and truly fell, did anxiety turn into concern. _Of course_, Yuuri wanted gold. But he had come to care about Yurio in the short time that Yuuri had spent with him training and learning Viktor's routines for the Onsen on Ice competition (and in the small interactions Yuuri had had with Yurio throughout this skating season). Viktor, for obvious reasons, cared a lot about Yurio's wellbeing, too.

Yuuri and Viktor, both, knew that Yurio lacked stamina. They knew from the Rostelecom Cup that Yurio's free skate program was brutal in its beauty, but that was just it. It may have been _too_ brutal for someone at Yurio's level. As much as Yurio wanted to win gold for his debut in the senior division, seeing him push himself so much at such a young age didn't sit quite right with either Yuuri or Viktor.

It was to be expected that someone as young as Yurio, someone with less experience (both in skating and in life), may not perform on the level of some of the older skaters. More than that, any physical limitations he had, such as lower stamina, couldn't be remedied over the course of eight months, no matter how determined he was to win gold. Not to mention, it was unclear if he had reached his peak regarding stamina, or if he could do some intense training to increase his stamina as much as his body would allow. (The good news was he certainly had time to find out.)

Now, that wasn't to say Yurio _wasn't_ a talented skater, _of course_ he was. But it seemed unwise to push himself to almost impossible heights just to keep up with older competitors, just as it was unwise for him to attempt quads while still in the junior division.

"He's pushing himself too hard," Yuuri and Viktor said at the same time causing Yuuri to jump and blush. Viktor simply smiled and unconsciously shifted a little closer so that their shoulders were brushing. He glanced over at Yuuri through the corners of his eyes.

_We're in sync again,_ he thought before turning his eyes back to the ice.

Somewhere in the middle of Yurio's free skate, Yuuri unconsciously stood, too anxious to sit. Viktor looked up at Yuuri, concerned, but knowing the look on Yuuri's face—his brown eyes were intense as they followed Yurio across the ice. Viktor slowly reached up and took Yuuri's hand, just so Yuuri would know Viktor was there for him, if needed. Yuuri only reacted by ever-so-slightly squeezing Viktor's hand, eyes glued to Yurio.

Yurio's next jump was a quad, but it looked like he made it a combination. He landed the first jump fine, but was wobbly landing on his second jump. His next combination went fine, letting Yuuri and Viktor breathe until his next jump combination, which went…alright. As it was at the tail-end of his program, and he was already exhausted, he didn't get enough rotations in his first jump, but somehow didn't fall or even put a hand down, and instead pushed on and managed to complete the combination, even if it was a little unsteady.

When he finished, Yurio held his pose just long enough for any photographers to get a shot before he relaxed. Even from where he stood, Yuuri could see the tears in Yurio's eyes before Yurio's face was obscured when he fell to his knees, covering his face with his fisted hands. Whether out of exhaustion, relief, or disappointment, Yuuri wasn't sure. Maybe it was all three. Either way, Yuuri felt for the younger boy, knowing that feeling, that _frustration_. He'd felt it at last year's GPF and even just two days ago, after his short program.

It had still been a great performance, though, and Yuuri wasn't sure if he'd done enough to get gold.

Viktor stood and squeezed Yuuri's hand.

"Come on, let's head down," Viktor suggested, looking over at Yuuri.

Yuuri's eyes were frazzled when he finally looked over at Viktor, but he smiled nonetheless and nodded, giving Viktor's hand a squeeze.

They headed back down to wait for Yurio's score announcement rink-side, hand-in-hand.

Yuuri's breathing sounded labored, reminding Viktor of the Onsen on Ice event that felt like eons ago—when he'd gone up to Yuuri to tell him it was his turn. Viktor gave Yuuri a side-long glance before letting go of Yuuri's hand so he could put his arm around Yuuri's waist and pull him closer. Yuuri's eyes stayed on the jumbo screen, but his hand gripped the fabric of Viktor's jacket. Now pressed up against him, Viktor could feel Yuuri trembling, and he wished he could've done more to comfort Yuuri. But he knew no words would calm him down, so he pressed himself closer and waited.

And then Yurio's free skate score was announced.

* * *

Despite the roaring crowd, Yuri felt his heart plummet in his chest—disappointment, anger, bitterness. He had wanted to win gold for his debut in the senior division. He had sold his soul for this—for _what?_

Silver?

That wasn't good enough—!

A firm clap on his shoulder broke him from his spiraling thoughts and he looked over at Coach Yakov, who was beaming down at him, which wasn't a common occurrence with him.

"Congratulations, Yuratchka," Yakov said, gripping Yuri's shoulder. "You've done well."

Before Yuri could react, he felt Lilia grip his hand and he automatically looked over to her. "You should be proud, Yuri. You were the perfect student, and you became more than the prima ballerina I trained you to be. You have evolved into something beyond that, and it was an honor to witness it. It was an honor to work with you."

Yuri tried not to frown, both Coach Yakov and Lilia's words not matching how he felt, and instead stuttered out, "Th-thank you." Then he realized he should probably say a little more but wasn't sure what exactly "more" should be. (Thankfully, Lilia, despite how she presented herself, remembered what it was like to be fifteen and was forgiving at Yuri's clear lack of words. And _maybe_, just maybe, she had developed a soft spot for him.)

As Yuri waited for the award ceremony, he shrugged on his jacket, reflexively throwing up the hood, hunching his shoulders, and shoving his hands into his pockets. He couldn't help but start when his phone buzzed. At first, he just ignored it, not wanting to interact with _anybody_ at this point in time, the disappointment and bitterness still churning in his stomach like heartburn, even with Coach Yakov and Lilia's congratulations.

But then his phone buzzed again.

And again.

And once more for good measure.

Now annoyed, he pulled out his phone to turn off his notifications but caught a glimpse of the titles. His anger simmered down a little as he opened up his messages. The first three read:

Дедушка  
Congratulations, Yuratchka!  
I'm so proud of you. You've come a long way.  
I know you'll be busy, but call me when you can.

The other message read:

Yuuko  
Congrats, Yuri! *:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:* You did amazing, and we're all so happy for you! You've come so far from when you were here for Onsen on Ice. It's been amazing to see how much you've grown and changed. Your free skate was stunning, as always! You should come visit Hasetsu again, soon! You definitely deserve a nice, long bath in the onsen after all your hard work. Good luck at Russian Nationals!

Tramping down on a smile, because he had a reputation to upkeep—and he wanted to still be angry, dammit!—he shoved his phone back into his pocket just as he heard his name being called in a familiar deep voice.

Yuri pulled his hood back and turned in time to see Otabek approach him, giving him a rare smile that he only showed his closest friends.

_A friend,_ Yuri thought. _My friend._

"Congratulations, Yuri," Otabek said, holding out his hand.

"Thank you," Yuri managed, stretching out his own hand. Otabek's grip and shake were firm and Yuri liked that. More times than he'd care to know, whenever Yuri had to meet with someone in any official capacity, they always took his hand and barely squeezed, barely shook. It was like they took one look at him and saw someone weak or a child who couldn't handle a firmer handshake. It pissed Yuri off more than he cared to admit.

Not Otabek, though. Otabek knew what Yuri was capable of and didn't treat him like a child, which Yuri appreciated.

"Hopefully," Yuri started as they pulled their hands away. "I'll see you again at Worlds."

Otabek nodded. "I look forward to it."

Coach Yakov called for Yuri, then. The award ceremony was just about to get underway. Yuri gave Otabek one last nod before turning and heading over to where Coach Yakov and Lilia awaited.

The anger and disappointment he'd felt earlier was actually slowly starting to dissipate, much to Yuri's own surprise. After all that intense and tough-love training he'd gone through with Coach Yakov and Lilia, he thought for sure they wouldn't except anything but the _absolute_ best from him. That was a standard he held himself up to, as well, because it wasn't just about making a statement for his first time in the senior division, it was also about Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuri wasn't sure if the amorphous they (Coach Yakov? Lilia? Yuri's Angels? Russia's skating fans? Fans worldwide?) wanted him to _become_ the new Viktor Nikiforov or if they wanted him to _surpass_ Viktor Nikiforov, but it always came down to _Viktor Nikiforov_ in one way or another. It was impossible not to, having been Viktor's rinkmate for so long now. So Yuri thought if he didn't achieve what Viktor Nikiforov had at around the same age, then he would be letting them down.

As it was turning out, maybe he couldn't please _them_, but there were a lot of people in his life that seemed to accept him for what he was at this stage in his skating career. He didn't have to be the next Viktor Nikiforov, nor did he have to surpass Viktor Nikiforov (though, breaking one of his records would always be one of Yuri's crowning achievements), he could just be…Yuri Plisetski.

* * *

The world faded around Yuuri when he read Yurio's free skate score on the jumbo screen…and then he read it again, and read it one more time because third time's the charm, wasn't that the saying? (Perhaps not how it was used, however.) But like when Yuuri's scores were announced, he was pretty sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. Yurio's free skate score was: 186.21, his overall score: 304.77.

The crowd's roars, the feeling of Viktor's arm around his shoulders, the lights of the rink…it all faded until all Yuuri could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat.

Okay, breaking Viktor's record, he could handle. A score over 300 he could kind of accept. But…but gold? He'd…won gold? This wasn't a joke? He wasn't dreaming? He'd…_really_ won gold? Some small part of him even questioned if he deserved it. Logically, he knew he'd worked hard for this. He put in the work, the hours, put his heart and soul into his programs.

He _deserved_ this.

But he still couldn't believe it.

"..uuri?" Viktor's voice faded in. "Yuuri?"

Viktor was standing in front of him now, concern swirling in his blue eyes. When Yuuri's eyes focused in on Viktor, Viktor relaxed, a smile spreading across his features.

"You won," Viktor said quietly.

And just like that, the world snapped back into place around Yuuri. The cheers of the crowd, the lights in the rink and from the cameras, the feeling of Viktor gripping Yuuri's shoulders, the tears sliding down Yuuri's cheeks.

Part of Yuuri was still having trouble believing it, but a different part of him, the part that had wanted gold, even at last year's GPF, was starting to accept it.

A sob escaped Yuuri's lips as he pulled Viktor into a hug. He knew that the award ceremony would be underway soon, but he needed this moment, to celebrate with just him and Viktor. Especially because he still couldn't quite fathom the results. Especially because of how much Viktor had helped him get to this point. It felt surreal, still like he was dreaming.

Yuuri eventually, reluctantly, let go so he could get his skates back on. For obvious reasons, he'd need them. He'd only just finished lacing up his skates when he was called over to someone with a big headset on and a clipboard. Yurio and Phichit (who'd won bronze) were already waiting with the person. Yuuri quickly unzipped his jacket and took off his glass, giving both haphazardly to Viktor, as he walked over to them.

As soon as Yuuri was in earshot, the person with the clipboard began giving them instructions on how the ceremony would go—their names would be called, they'd get a few seconds to take bows, and for the cameras and photographers to get shots, then they'd step onto the carpet and go to their spot on the podium. After everyone was set up on the podium, they would shake some hands and then be medaled. After, there would be more pictures both on the podium and on the ice.

Yurio, out of the three of them, was the only one who didn't looked stunned and a little out of it. There were tears in Phichit's eyes that had been unceremoniously scrubbed away, but no one would blame him for crying. He had already made history as the first Thai skater to make it to the GPF, and now he had won bronze! And of course, Yuuri had already cried when the scores had been finalized.

Then they were being led to the edge of the rink at a brisk pace. Yuuri glanced over his shoulder at Viktor, who gave him an encouraging smile. Yuuri faced forward and tried to keep up with the others. It still didn't feel real—he felt like he was moving through molasses, and the lights in the arena had been turned off, with spotlights only lighting up the rink, not making it feel any less like a dream to Yuuri.

It wasn't until Phichit's name was called did Yuuri realize he hadn't congratulated him. Without really thinking, Yuuri pulled Phichit into a tight hug. "Congratulations," he murmured in Phichit's ear. Then Yuuri let his best friend go so the ceremony could begin. Phichit could congratulate Yuuri later.

As Yurio stepped onto the ice for silver, Yuuri felt like he had possibly missed something. (He also realized he hadn't congratulated Yurio, either, but he probably wouldn't be as forgiving if Yuuri hugged him all of the sudden.) Yuuri knew how much Yurio wanted to win gold for his debut in the senior division, and figured Yurio would be upset winning silver. But Yurio's face was surprisingly calm, almost at peace. Which, in general circumstances, didn't really fit Yurio's personality. All the same, Yuuri was happy for Yurio. Silver was nothing to sneeze at, and he'd broken one of Viktor's records in his short program. That was still quite a statement to make for his first time in the senior division.

Then it was Yuuri's turn to take his bows and go to the podium.

He did this all in a daze—bowing, taking the podium, getting his medal, shaking hands, all the photos of the three together, two of them, just him. It still didn't feel real to him, even with the new weight around his neck, the coolness of the metal against his costume.

And as they headed back to the boards after all that, Phichit stopped them.

"Would you guys mind if I got my phone for a selfie real quick?" he asked.

"Of course not, Phichit," Yuuri answered immediately, his voice betraying he was still half-dazed. Yuuri looked at Yurio, then.

"да, fine, whatever," Yuri muttered, arms crossed over his chest, eyes elsewhere, expression grumpy. There was the Yurio that Yuuri was used to. (Even if Yuuri knew it was just an act.)

"Thanks!" Phichit skated off to the boards to grab his phone from Celestino and quickly skated back to them.

They crowded in, holding up their medals, and let Phichit take a few selfies. Once he was done, Phichit turned to Yuuri: "I said this before, but you seemed really out of it: Congratulations, Yuuri."

"Thanks, Phichit," Yuuri said. "It doesn't feel real, does it?"

Phichit shook his head with a laugh, and they began to head to the boards once again. Half-way there, however, Yurio, who'd held back with Yuuri and Phichit, skated up to Yuuri's side.

"Hey, Pork Cutlet Bowl," he muttered. Yuuri slowed and looked down at Yurio, who stopped, forcing Yuuri to stop too.

At the boards, Viktor watched the two, wondering what they were up to. Phichit continued forward at a slow pace, giving them space, but probably not wanting to exit the rink just yet.

Yurio spun, his back now facing Viktor (not that he could've overheard them anyway) and said something to Yuuri, who leaned down to catch what Yurio was saying. After a moment, Yuuri's eyes flickered to Viktor right before he jumped and turned bright red.

Viktor's eyes narrowed as he tried to think of what Yurio could've possibly said to make Yuuri blush like that. A lot of different possibilities flitted through Viktor's mind (many of them most likely dirtier than anything Yurio could come up with at such a young age; and even if he could've, why _would_ he?), but none of them stuck. It didn't help that, sometimes, Yuuri could get easily flustered anyway.

Yurio pulled away and Yuuri straightened up, facing Yurio, saying something emphatically but not loud enough for Viktor to hear. Viktor felt a flicker of irritation. _What_ were they talking about?!

Yurio was unfazed and replied with the same, bored expression. Yuuri said one last thing before skating away, perhaps a little too fast. That, combined with Viktor's curiosity, and neither of them noticed Yurio approach Phichit.

"Yuuri," Viktor began, handing Yuuri's skate guards over. "What was Yurio saying to you just now?"

Yuuri, who'd bent down to put his skate guards on, froze long enough for Viktor to notice. Unfortunately for Viktor, he wasn't able to read the expression on Yuuri's face.

"Nothing," Yuuri responded in his nervous voice that was usually slightly higher pitched than his normal voice as he put his skate guards on. "It's not important right now." Before Viktor could respond, Yuuri straightened up. "Besides," Yuuri began, inclining his head to the side, that same smile—no, it wasn't a smile, nor a grin, it was a _smirk_. Yuuri smirked like he had the other day in their hotel, as he lifted his gold medal from his chest with his thumb. Viktor's mind went completely blank and his stomach knotted in the most pleasant way as Yuuri said, "I think you owe me something."

Now, Viktor _loved_ this side of Yuuri. At the same time, whenever Yuuri _did_ act this bold, Viktor had trouble thinking. And if Yuuri ever figured that out, Viktor would be _doomed_.

As Viktor tried to form an answer, say words, maybe move to show Yuuri signs of life, Yuuri took the medal from around his neck and held it out for Viktor.

"Well?" Yuuri prompted.

Viktor blinked, swallowing hard, before throwing his arms around Yuuri and kissing him. Then he pulled away and took Yuuri's medal—clutched in Yuuri's hands to prevent it from falling after Viktor had hugged him—and carefully put it back around Yuuri's neck. Viktor lifted the medal, then, and pressed his lips to it, never taking his eyes off Yuuri. It was that smoldering look in Viktor's eyes that made Yuuri drop his act and blush from the bottom of his neck all the way up to his hairline, his heart beating so fast, Yuuri was afraid he might go into cardiac arrest.

"Blegh!"

Viktor straightened up, carefully letting go of Yuuri's medal, and both he and Yuuri looked over to see Yurio, making a face at them, his arms crossed over his chest. "You guys make me sick."

Viktor and Yuuri exchanged a glance before pulling Yurio into a group hug.

"Congratulations, Yurio!" Viktor and Yuuri said simultaneously. They were too caught up in their exclamations to notice Phichit sidle his way over to them, playing innocently on his phone.

"Hey, get off me!" Yurio exclaimed. "I don't need congratulations from two idiots!" Despite his protestations, Yurio made no move to get them to stop hugging him. (And he would _never_ admit it out loud, to _anyone_, but he did enjoy their attention.)

"Hey," Viktor began in a more serious tone, pulling away just as Yuuri did, "I'm proud of you, Yura." Viktor rested his hand on the younger skater's shoulder and gave it gentle squeeze, giving Yurio a proud smile.

There was a beat of silence, while Yurio took in the acknowledgement from Viktor, before he made a face and looked away moodily, shrugging Viktor's hand off and crossing his arms again.

"Just retire and marry Pork Cutlet Bowl already, old man," he muttered. Then turned to Yuuri and pointed at him: "And you'd better watch out, because I'm coming for that gold medal next year." Then he gave Yuuri a pointed look.

"Funny you should say that, Yurio," Viktor sang with his classic whimsical, air-headed smile. (Did he do it because he knew how much it pissed Yurio off?) "Yuuri needs to start preparing for Japanese Nationals"—he began as Yurio spun on him and exclaimed, "Wait, you really _are_ retiring?" but Viktor barreled on, ignoring Yurio—"and then there's the Four Continents, and after that, Worlds. Spring weddings aren't as uncommon anymore, so I think we could make it work. Though, springtime in Russia is kind of muddy. What do you think, Yuuri~?"

Sometimes Viktor did a thing with his eyes, making them so wide and innocent-looking because they were bright with genuine happiness and excitement, and it made Yuuri's heart do a bunch of quads in his chest.

Yurio gave Yuuri a pointed side-eye.

Yuuri's cheeks flushed pink and he looked down, playing with his medal as he mumbled, "…I-I don't know, I think a spring wedding would be beautiful in Hasetsu, beneath the cherry blossoms. Don't you think, V-Vitya?"

"Oh, Yuuri," Viktor began, "that would be _wonderful! _I—" Then it hit him and he broke off abruptly, jumping like he'd just been shocked. Viktor let out what could only be classified as a squeak, before both his hands flew up to cover his mouth as his entire neck and face turned bright red, and he took a few steps away from Yuuri and Yurio. Then he was hiding his entire face behind his hands—his hair helped with this—and almost quite literally melted, sinking to the floor silently, hands still hiding his face.

Yuuri, being Yuuri, panicked.

"Viktor!" he exclaimed, going up to Viktor and falling to his knees, unsure of what to do. He began stammering in both Japanese and English as he became increasingly worried about Viktor. His hands fluttered around Viktor's head and shoulders, not sure if he should comfort him or try to pry him from his cocoon.

"Y-Yurio, what do I do?!" Yuuri finally managed to stutter in English, looking over his shoulder at where Yurio last was. What he saw, however, was Phichit, holding his phone up, _recording_. His eyes were filled with tears, mouth pressed into a thin line, but his body shook with silent laughter. His free hand was gripping his other arm so hard his knuckles were white as he tried to keep his phone steady. To Phichit's right was Yurio, leaning on the boards, one of his arms around his stomach, his free hand on his mouth. His eyes were wide and brimmed with tears, and his body shook with silent laughter, much like Phichit's. (As much as Yurio wanted to watch, he found comfort in the fact that Phichit got it on film and would be able to watch it whenever he needed a good laugh.)

Yuuri had never seen Yurio laugh so hard since getting to know him. And if he hadn't been so mortified in that moment, he would've savored it more. As it was, Yuuri was _mortified_.

_How long had Phichit been recording?!_

"Yurio, did you plan this?!" Yuuri exclaimed, feeling his face turn red. His head snapped back and forth from Viktor, still turtling, to Phichit and Yurio, still shaking with barely contained laughter. "Put your phone away, Phichit!" Yuuri nearly yelled, flailing his hands. He would've stood and taken Phichit's phone from him, but he didn't want to leave Viktor, who seemed to be in a state of shock.

Phichit managed to control his laughter just enough to answer his friend, "S-sorry, Yuuri. I couldn't pass up an opportunity like this."

Yurio, who wasn't very physical with _anyone_, that Yuuri had ever seen anyway, then turned and rested his arm on Phichit's shoulder, still doubled over in laughter.

"I told you it was worth it," Yurio said, trying and failing to stifle his giggles. Yurio looked at Yuuri, then. "By the way, Pork Cutlet Bowl, your debt is paid for getting me up at an _ungodly_ hour yesterday."

"I'll say!" Yuuri said indignantly. "In fact, I feel like you owe _me_ now!"

"Only if Phichit posts his video," Yurio said matter-of-factly before bursting into another fit of laughter. Yuuri's eyes turned on Phichit and those usually soft brown eyes could've cut through steel in that moment.

"Which I won't!" Phichit quickly assured, then muttered something along the lines of "maybe" in Thai, so even if Yuuri did hear, he wouldn't understand. (Did it count if he took screenshots of the video and posted _those_? Phichit wondered…) At the very least, he would need to send this to Yurio as soon as possible, so if Yuuri made him delete it from _his_ phone, at least he'd know there was a copy floating around (oh! Or maybe he could send the video to one of his group chats…he would have to create one that didn't have Yuuri in it though). Not to mention, he owed Yurio at least that much, since Yurio's the one who told him to have his phone prepared.

Yuuri felt a gentle tug on the sleeve of his costume and looked back at Viktor. He had straightened up a little now, but his head remained bowed, shoulders still slightly hunched, and his free hand concealed his eyes. Yuuri waited silently, actually _wanting_ to call him Vitya, but afraid it might make Viktor cocoon again.

"How embarrassing," Viktor finally said before sighing, finally lifting his head and lowering his hand. He gave Yuuri a small smile. His cheeks were still flushed pink, but the rest of his face and neck were no longer bright red. A good sign. "Just when I think you can't surprise me anymore, you go and do just that. You make me feel like a teenager."

Yuuri flushed at the thought of Viktor growing out his hair again. He wondered if he could convince Viktor to do it.

Feeling particularly bold, Yuuri reached up to caress Viktor's cheek.

"I don't know, I think you're being cute," Yuuri mumbled, pausing before, "Vitya."

Viktor jumped again and squeezed his eyes shut, his face slowly turning red once more. "_Yuu_ri~!" he groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri put his arms around Viktor comfortingly and sighed.

"I could get used to this," Yuuri mumbled. It wasn't often he could make Viktor flustered, and Viktor had spent months flustering Yuuri, so it was kind of gratifying for Yuuri to have found something that _would_ fluster Viktor. Of course, this wouldn't last. Viktor would get used to Yuuri calling him Vitya, but Yuuri would savor every moment like this one before that happened.

"You guys are so cute!" Phichit exclaimed, clutching his phone to his chest. Mercifully, it appeared he'd stopped filming. (Yurio, too, had gotten over his laughter and was now standing up straight, arms crossed over his chest, looking down at Yuuri and Viktor, shaking his head in mild disgust at their public display of affection.) "A spring wedding under the cherry blossoms would be _amazing_!"

Viktor kept his face buried in Yuuri's shoulder but was mentally adding in the cherry blossoms to the vision he'd had of their future wedding that morning. Which, in retrospect, wasn't the best idea right at that moment because it only made his heart start to pound more than it already was. And his heart had already gone through enough today.

At some point, Viktor felt Yuuri shift.

"Vitya," Yuuri said softly in his ear.

(Oh, Viktor was so totally _screwed_. Absolutely and completely _fucked_.)

Despite the blush that still stained his cheeks—he couldn't exactly control that as much as he tried—Viktor pulled back so he could see Yuuri and sighed. "Interviews," he asked, though it didn't sound like a question. Viktor had done this making the podium and winning gold thing countless times before, he knew. The real question was, would he be able to stand and move? Or were his legs still gelatin?

Yuuri gave him a small smile and nodded.

"Okay," Viktor sighed wishing more than he ever had that he could control his blushes.

Yuuri stood first, offering Viktor his hand. Good news: Viktor's legs seemed to be working again. Bad news: Yuuri had waited as long as he possibly could, so they kind of had to rush to get Yuuri changed.

* * *

By the time they made it back to their hotel room, Yuuri was exhausted. (Viktor was tired, sure, but he was still trying to get over the fact that Yuuri had started calling him Vitya. Just thinking about it made his heart pound and his cheeks flush pink. _Still_.) By the time they were ready for bed—after showers, getting changed, brushing teeth and combing hair—it was just hitting midnight.

Yuuri just barely managed to take off his glasses and set them aside, and pull away some of the sheets before literally collapsing onto his bed. Seconds later, he was snoring softly. Viktor couldn't help but chuckle as he went over to Yuuri and carefully pulled the sheets over him fully before turning out the bedside lamp. Viktor went back to his side of the room and sat down on the edge of his bed, letting out a long, slow breath. Then he glanced at the closet that currently held their exhibition costumes.

Viktor flopped down onto his bed and pressed his head into the pillow, biting back what could only be called a squeal of excitement. He was _never_ going to get to sleep tonight if he started thinking about the exhibition skate!

With a huff, Viktor turned off his bedside lamp before throwing the sheets over him. Too late, his mind was buzzing, his heart pounding, with eagerness and anticipation for the exhibition gala tomorrow. So much for getting a good night's sleep. (For the _third_ time.)

* * *

Viktor woke first that next morning, to his own surprise. He thought for sure, his thoughts having kept him up, he would wake up after Yuuri had, like the past few nights. The second thing he noticed was the warm pressure at his back and on his waist.

Carefully, he shifted so he could turn his head and look over his shoulder. Sure enough, Yuuri had, at some point last night, migrated over to Viktor's bed and was now curled up against him, his arm draped over Viktor's waist.

Huh.

Unlike Viktor's usual reactions to Yuuri being irresistibly adorable, or swinging in the opposite direction, alluring and seductive, he felt his heart settle in his chest. It was a quiet, subtle kind of bliss. It was warmth, like sitting by a fire in the fireplace on a cold Russian winter night, or holding a hot mug of tea and watching the steam curl and rise in the cold air.

Yuuri shifted, breaking Viktor from his thoughts. Viktor watched as Yuuri's eyes slowly opened, as he blinked away his grogginess. When Yuuri saw Viktor, he smiled. Then a millisecond later, he realized how close they were and, in typical Yuuri fashion, panicked.

Yuuri let out a close-mouthed scream, jumping up and practically hitting the ceiling before landing on his bed, only to promptly tumble right off the side. Yuuri quickly lifted himself on the edge of his bed enough so he could see Viktor, who'd sat up.

"I am so sorry!" Yuuri apologized, hands grasping for his glasses. When he found them, he shoved them crookedly onto his face and said, "I didn't mean to invade your personal space like that." Yuuri continued to stutter, but didn't seem to realize it was a weird, incomprehensible mix of English and Japanese.

Viktor wanted to laugh (not at Yuuri, rather the situation) but he was a little too stunned to really do anything but stare at Yuuri. How could the man before him seriously have gone from calling him "Vitya" last night to freaking out over a little cuddling?

"I didn't mind," Viktor finally managed, meeting Yuuri's wide brown eyes.

Yuuri broke off in his stammering and squeaked. His face turned red and he slowly sunk behind the side of the bed, disappearing from Viktor's view.

This time, Viktor couldn't help but laugh. "_Yuu_ri~!" He called as he crawled over onto Yuuri's bed, to look over the edge. Yuuri was crouched facing the bed, holding his face in his hands. Viktor laid down on his stomach, resting his chin in his left hand, reaching with his right hand to gently pull Yuuri's right hand away from his face.

Yuuri looked up at Viktor then and Viktor smiled.

"I love you, Yuuri," he said, gently fixing Yuuri's crooked glasses with his left hand so they sat straight.

Yuuri gave Viktor a shy smile back as he slowly lowered his other hand. A splash of red still remained in his cheeks and across his nose.

"I love you, too," Yuuri said. Then he was gripping Viktor's right hand. "Vitya."

(No. Nope. Viktor wasn't used it yet.)

It was Viktor's turn to blush and bury his face in his elbow, causing Yuuri to laugh before he let go of Viktor's hand so he could get off the floor and sit on the edge of the bed. Viktor shifted, too, situating himself behind Yuuri, wrapping his arms around Yuuri's waist and pulling Yuuri's back flush against his chest. Yuuri stuttered and blushed again but didn't try to wiggle away or jump out of Viktor's arms as Viktor rested his chin on Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri was tense at first but soon relaxed, settling back against Viktor.

They sat there like that for a quiet moment, listening to each other's breathing and watching the sky lighten.

Then, "Are you excited for the exhibition?" Yuuri asked, lifting his right hand, watching as the light caught his ring. Viktor lifted his own right hand, putting it over Yuuri's before slowly lacing his fingers with Yuuri's. They both looked at their rings, side-by-side.

"I could barely sleep last night, I was so excited," Viktor said. "Are you?"

Yuuri lowered his hand, taking Viktor's with his and pulled away enough so he could turn and look at Viktor.

"Yeah!" Yuuri exclaimed, smiling widely, his eyes gleaming.

Viktor's heart stuttered and he had another, _Oh shit, he's cute_ moment. It was unbelievable to him that, for as many times as he'd had a _he's cute_ moment since meeting Yuuri, his reaction was still just as strong as the first time. Honestly, though? He didn't mind. And he couldn't _wait_ until he had another _he's cute_ moment and instead of doing a quad flip, his heart would settle, followed by that soft warmth like a breeze that promised spring, no matter how cold winter was.

* * *

Viktor waited in the wings with baited breath.

It was time. Their exhibition skate was just about to begin. The arena was dark, with the rink lit up with colored spotlights, a deep and dazzling blue. And there was Yuuri, standing in the middle, head bowed, wearing a costume similar to the one Viktor wore for his free skate last skating season and which he was wearing now, except in a blue that matched the lights.

They'd practiced this countless times before—of course they had!—but Viktor hadn't expected to feel almost dizzy with anticipation and excitement. His heart was pounding so fast and so loud in his chest he was afraid everyone might hear it, even over the music, as he watched Yuuri skate the first part. And, for a moment, that feeling threw him back to the very first time he'd competed—the adrenaline rush, the _exhilaration_.

It seemed so silly, childish even, to Viktor to feel like this, but 1) Yuuri just had a way of making him feel this way about skating. He hadn't been looking forward to skating a program like this in _years_. And 2) this wasn't just _any_ program. It was _theirs_. It was their way of showing their love for each other to the whole world.

Yes, yes, they'd shown their love for each other many times before during this skating season, and in many different ways. But this pair skate was _different_ than all of that. Especially with Viktor's decision to retire from competitive skating and continue to be Yuuri's coach and choreographer. It was a _new beginning_. And not just for Viktor; Yuuri had opened up a whole new chapter in his own life in many different ways.

It was a pair skate composed and choreographed specifically for them and their relationship. The composer of _Stammi Vicino Aria_ was graciously willing, and all too eager, to build off the _Aria_ and compose something new. Something that would parallel the _Aria_ but signify that the achingly lonely man had finally found someone who would stay close to him, and who he would stay close to, both in the music and lyrics. The opera singer who'd sang for the _Aria_ even returned to sing a duet with another opera singer for the new composition.

Then it was time for Viktor to join. The lights blazed and changed color to a beautiful, deep purple. The moment Viktor met Yuuri, any nerves he may have been feeling completely vanished while the excitement and exhilaration remained, still very present in the way Viktor's heart beat in his chest.

Dancing with Yuuri at last year's GPF banquet had been like getting a taste of spring in the middle of winter. It had given Viktor hope that the winter would end. (And, to be honest, while he would always look back fondly on that memory, it was different now that he knew Yuuri had no memory of it.)

Dancing with Yuuri now?

Spring had come.

Thrilling. Exciting. _Fun._

Viktor _really_ did feel like a teen again, discovering just how much he loved skating—how much he loved working with the composer for the music, how much he loved coming up with choreography all his own, how much he loved telling a story.

The crowd's roar was deafening as Yuuri and Viktor finished their exhibition skate—facing each other, pressed close. One of Yuuri's hands was resting on Viktor's shoulder blade, his other hand pressed against Viktor's chest. Viktor had one of his arms wrapped around Yuuri's waist, his free hand, resting over Yuuri's hand at his chest. They held their pose, perhaps for a little longer than needed.

Finally, they broke apart, only just enough to grip each other's right hands, displaying their rings, grinning as they pressed their foreheads together. And for a moment, it was just them. Then they pulled away, Viktor taking Yuuri's other hand so they could face the stands and take their bows as the crowd continued to roar.

Viktor could barely hear Yuuri laugh as he waved to the stands and cameras, even though they were standing right next to each other, everyone was cheering so loud. Viktor shifted closer, putting his arm around Yuuri's waist—Yuuri's free arm automatically going up and around Viktor's waist—and raising his free arm up to wave at everyone.

Viktor kept his hand up and waving, but his gaze went to Yuuri before long. He couldn't help but smile fondly at the look on Yuuri's face. Oh, how far he'd come since last year's GPF. It was a wonderous sight to behold. More than that, though, Viktor hadn't felt this at peace in a_ long_ time. And it was all thanks to the man next to him, Katsuki Yuuri. Yuuri, who had blown into his world like the west wind, bringing spring with him. Yuuri, who had _inspired_ him and continued to surprise him. Yuuri, who had given him _life_. Yuuri, who he loved.

It was a good thing Yuuri was paying attention to what was happening around them because Viktor wouldn't have known when it was time to get off the ice. The crowd was still cheering, but less loudly now. The announcer was saying something over the loudspeaker, but Viktor wasn't paying any attention. They had to let go of each other to exit but Viktor stayed close to Yuuri as they did, a hand hovering at the small of Yuuri's back. Anyone watching could tell just how taken Viktor was because he couldn't take his eyes off Yuuri as they stepped off the ice.

Viktor was thinking about the future now. The image of Yuuri at their wedding flashed before his eyes once again. The next images that came to mind were more domestic than Viktor was expecting—baths in the onsen, learning how to make katsudon, running along the beach with Yuuri and Makkachin, cuddling up on the sofa, lazing in bed as the sun rose. _Then_ came the ideas of future programs, the stories Yuuri could tell, the _music_ he could make, with just his skating. And Viktor was ready for all of it, ready for his life to begin again, with Yuuri.

But whatever their future held, on or off the ice, Viktor was absolutely sure of two things:

Skating with Yuuri felt like breathing—easy, something he didn't have to think about.

_Being_ with Yuuri felt like coming home.

* * *

**btdubs, the ranking goes like this:**

**1) Yuuri  
****2) Yuri  
****3) Phichit  
****4) Otabek  
****5) Chris  
****6) JJ**

**Because I said so.**

**More long notes below:**

**Joking aside, I **_**agonized**_** over who should win bronze. I love Phichit and Otabek both, and I know, logically (from fan metas and score calculations), Otabek should have won bronze. But Phichit winning bronze fit better with the flow of my narrative, so I stuck with it. (Sorry Otabek! ;_;)**

**I'd like to credit this post by 9297 on Tumblr (post/154862246791/how-ep-11-and-12-just-threw-away-yois-chance-at) for helping with the final scores. Since this is only episode 12 script doctor (for the most part), the SP scores are the same, so I had to modify the FS scores to fit the total scores from the post linked above. (And thanks to commenter, biee, for sending me the link!)**

**I hope the short conversation between Viktor and Stéphane seemed…okay. I was struggling with that bit for a while but wanted to include it nonetheless. (Also, if you couldn't tell, I did use dub because, yes, I watch anime in dub when I can. Nothing wrong with sub, I just prefer dub most of the time; my explanation for why is too long for these already long notes.)**

**I took what I know of behind-the-scenes for theater, TV, and movies, and applied it here. I don't know how accurate it is, but that's that. Again, if y'all know any behind-the-scene details regarding these things for televised skating competitions, I'd love to hear/read about it. Also, I assume they have interviews after the awards ceremony, which is why I mentioned it, but since I don't know a lot about how they go, I skipped over it. I'd love to know more about it, though, if anyone wants to hmu!**

**Additionally, I would've totally written all of Nikolai's texts in Russian, but I don't know Russian and Google translate is a crap-shoot with anything longer than a word. So if someone who knows Russian makes it this far and would like to translate, feel free to hmu!**

**The idea of Yurio telling Yuuri to call Viktor, Vitya spawned from **_**Fruits Basket**_**. There's a similar scene in the anime between three of the characters, and I thought it was be **_**hilarious**_** to include something similar here, not to mention the Fluff™ potential.**

**Finally, I'm thinking about writing a few more things for this (they won't be chapters, rather one-shot companion pieces; I'll put this work into a series), so stay tuned if you've enjoyed this story! (So far, I have two solid ideas, one is longer than the other).**

**And the title for this chapter comes from Taylor Swift's song, "Paper Rings." idk about you guys, but I think this song fits really well with Victuuri.**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed! Comments are much appreciated! ^_^**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


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